The Cards Life Dealt
by Tea221b
Summary: Jesse was born with a genetic mutation - he has cat ears in place of typical 'human' ears. It's a challenge but Jesse isn't one to let that control his life. That isn't to say he doesn't hide them, because he totally hides them. Inspired by mehitabel's artwork and by extension the LJ prompt. Deviates around S2, Episode 5. (Jesse doesn't meet Jane.) SaulGoodman/JessePinkman
1. Chapter 1

Jesse tugs his beanie down further over his head. It's hotter than hell outside – often is in the ABQ – but he refuses to expose his ears in public if he can avoid it. He doesn't mind so much around Badger, sometimes, but the thought of anyone else seeing his cat ears makes him skittish.

Jesse hates his ears.

He moves to the edge of the park table he's seated at to stretch into a slightly cooler spot dappled with shade from a tree a few feet away. The cooler spot successfully quells the urge to purr. He takes another sip of his orangeade, and glares through the midday sun to the swings across the park. He watches a father push his cat-eared kid on the third swing but glances away down the street after a moment to avoid looking like a creeper.

His mom had had them as well, little black ones tipped in white topped her head when she was born, but her folks had immediately had the surgery to "fix" them, which involved cracking her skull open, a lot of scar tissue and re-wiring of inner ear structure to the genetically-engineered faux _human_ ears framing her face. She was constantly battling migraines for it and she claimed the muscles on her skull felt _wrong_ and that deep down she felt she was lacking though she couldn't even fathom what she'd truly lost, having essentially lived her whole life without them. Reasons upon excuses and too long a delay resulted in Jesse not having the procedure within the typical timeframe after birth. All Mom's idea, as Pops had wanted the "freakish" things removed.

Jesse wishes Pops had won that argument.

The cat ears were some strange, fucked up hereditary trait his mom managed to pass down. Which, how does that even work? Did some freak way back in human ancestry bone a cat? Humans are closer in DNA to pigs or something, aren't they? He thought he'd heard that once. But that thought was even more alarming. He doesn't like to think about it much, and all the research done on the subject is usually over his head, over his _fuzzy ears_. Anyway. Jesse got 'em but not his lil' bro. Jesse is oftentimes torn between jealousy and relief over Jake's lack of cat ears; at least this way the little man wouldn't have to deal with this embarrassing shit.

It's technically a mutation, only some odd 1 in every 600 people got it. And in just Albuquerque alone, with a population of some odd 550k, that still puts Jesse in the minority. It's a mutation, yeah, but nothing as cool as super speed or the power to fly. Hell, even wings would be cooler. And though he is by definition a mutant, he doesn't feel all that different for it. He wouldn't dedicate a comic book to it. He is flexible, damn near double-jointed. His sense of smell is sharp, but years of drug use had dulled that down significantly. His hearing is amazing, which is more a curse than a blessing with the dub-step music all his friends are so fond of. Some of the pitches of those noises are enough to make him sick to his stomach when they strike his ears. Deep bass is almost soothing by contrast, even at loud registers, as it mimics the feel of purring in his chest and makes his scalp tingle. The purring is annoying, too, honestly. Another dumb mutant power. It's usually out of his control – ripped up out of his chest and throat whenever he was too goddamn happy or if it's pleasantly warm in a stretch of sun or if something rubs his often oversensitive skin the right way. Embarrassing. So Jesse makes it a habit to wear clothes in layers, and to keep his damn emotions in check – so he comes off as a snarky, cynical bastard.

His eyesight is something to be proud of, but he'd had no idea until his friends told him the way he could see yards away was weird. He has the best of both worlds; the spectrum of colors he can see are sharp and bright and though he wouldn't admit it, beautiful, more so when he's high and seeing at night is no problem as long as there is even the faintest light source. Fast movement can be distractedly entertaining but he refuses to give in to those impulses like a damn housecat.

His hair is just the right shade and scruffy length to hide his ears if he tapes them down. Rather, his ears are the same color of his hair – they aren't tipped or black or white. The tape is annoying and itchy and for some reason makes his lizard brain – cat brain? – jittery to have them trapped down against his skull too long, like he's defenseless for it somehow. Hiding them under the beanie is no less frustrating, but at least it didn't make him want to punch anyone out for sneaking up on him or touching him unexpectedly.

He couldn't imagine the hell it must be for those poor bastards who had tails in addition to the ears. There are days it feels like he's the only one who struggles with any of it, though. Some people displayed their ears proudly, even adorned them with piercings and clips, though Jesse would never attempt that – the things are so damn sensitive. A few whacked out celebrities had even had surgeries to _give_ themselves cat ears, because money and too much leisure time apparently made people insane and prone to stupid decisions.

It isn't all that rare for adults to have them but typically around the age of eighteen, kids who hadn't had the removal surgery at birth were allowed to have it done if they chose. It was painful and expensive. Jesse'd heard enough horror stories and people lamenting their loss afterward for him to put off his decision. He generally finds the ears annoying but he's dealt with them this long so it really isn't a big deal.

"Hey, man."

Jesse spins around at the sound of Badger's gravelly voice; ears twitching back to catch the sound past the warm knit beanie. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine that he resolutely ignores. "Yo."

"Sorry. Car wouldn't start. You been here long?"

"Nah." Jesse gestures with a tilt of his chin to the limeade sitting on the wooden park table. He takes a sip of his own orangeade.

Badger picks it up and raises an eyebrow. "Is this another one of those orange sugar water things you like?"

Jesse snorts. "No, it's one of those gross sour ones you like."

Badger still pops the lid off and glances inside to the lime wedges floating in his drink. "Alright. Awesome, thanks." He takes a sip accompanied by an exaggerated sigh. "Much better than your weird hummingbird sugar water bullshit."

Jesse rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man."

"For real, though, is that like, a kitty thing? Liking obscene amounts of sugar?" Badger asks teasingly.

"Fuck off," Jesse mutters, ears flattening against his skull in mild irritation. He catches his friend's eyes flicking up to the movement under his beanie and he smirks enough to show his teeth around his straw, "Asshole. Try n' do somethin' nice for you."

"Aw, I take it back, dude. You can keep doing nice things for me."

"Yeah, we'll see," Jesse replies airily.

Badger huffs a laugh and shakes his head. He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and holds out his fist. "Here, man, happy birthday."

Jesse blinks. Not that he'd forgotten what day it was, but he hadn't expected anything. Tensions are always high at his childhood home for all his fuck-ups and the fact that his dad can't look at him for more than a few seconds if his head is uncovered, while Mom can't even look him in the eye anymore after everything that went down two months ago… He had never dropped by for any of their birthdays, so it would be all kinds of backwards for him to show up today expecting them to fuss over him. He doesn't have a head for dates anyway; he was always off by a few days when it was Badger's birthday. But the fact that Badger had remembered made something warm and pleasant curl in his gut.

"C'mon, my arm is getting tired," Badger jokes nervously, always awkward about gifts. He shakes his fist a bit.

Jesse sticks his hand out beneath his friend's, expecting a bag to fall into it for half a second before realizing how stupid it would be to make a bold handoff like that – Badger knows better. His next wary thought is that it would be another damn toy mouse for housecats because Badger is a bastard who thought that shit was funny for years until Jesse'd given him a black eye over it. What dropped instead was a Zippo, new and ridiculously shiny. It immediately had all of his attention, ears shifting up and forward in curiosity from their previously anxious tilt. The lighter catches the light in such a strange way. He lifts it up fully into the sun to find that it's a midnight blue with metallic swirls – the swirls are what are bouncing the light into his eager eyes. It reminds him of the night sky in summer.

"So, uh, good? Not good?" Badger asks after Jesse's silence stretches a bit long.

The blond glances past his gift to find Badger turning his styrofoam cup over in his hands under fierce concentration like it has the answers to the universe written on it rather than watching Jesse's curious inspection of the lighter. He grins widely. "Man, it's awesome. Thanks." He feels a purr rise up in his chest and he lets it slip into the open air freely.

The tips of Badger's very human ears tint pink just as color rises to his cheeks at the rhythmic sound. "Hah. Good, then." He takes his last, obnoxiously noisy sip from his drink before he stands. "You got babysitting duty today?"

'Babysitting;' their code for spending time with Mr White, whether or not it involved a cook. If the old man ever heard them referring to it as such, they'd both be chopped up n' melted down before being dumped in some nameless, barren stretch of desert. The idiotic thrill of that very real horror is enough to have Jesse snorting a slightly panicky laugh every time. "Nah, don't gotta babysit today. S'up?"

"Well, part two of your gift involves a trip to that art shop downtown. Figured I'd let ya pick whatever. Y'know, I mean, as long as we can get it in the car."

Jesse flashes a wide grin, purring kicking up again after the interruption from his laughter. "Yeah? You sure?"

"Hell yeah, man. It's been a minute since I've seen you work on anything. Figured I'd give ya a push." Badger shrugged, as though the offer isn't amazing, like it doesn't make Jesse's skin itch or make him want to race Badger to the car.

"My only terms are you gotta sketch me somethin' –or paint or whatever, with the stuff you get."

Jesse grins; easy terms. It has been so goddamn long since he's picked up a pencil. With the way his life has twisted into some grotesque nightmare since teaming up with Mr White, Jesse barely has the motivation to get up most mornings. Not that he gets much sleep lately. But every morning the sun pierces through the curtains of the Crystal Ship, Jesse rolls over and buries his head under his pillow, afraid that any given day would involve Jesse looking down the business end of a gun, or getting his ass kicked, or someone ending up without a pulse. 'Til his life had crossed with Mr White's again, Jesse hadn't seen a body outside a funeral service nor held a gun. He was beginning to categorize his life in terms of _before_ and _after_ with the distinguishing moment being Mr White's abrupt cornering of him that fateful night. _Before_, Jesse would duck out of sketchy situations when they arose and though he knew of the top level bosses and runners in his networks, he never got involved where he knew he didn't need to be. _After_, Jesse had become a damn magnet for that shit. He's seen more death than he could stomach and would totally dig not seeing any more in the immediate future. He lost his house – which Aunt Ginny _gave him_, fuck you very much – forced to live in the Crystal Ship, having to change location constantly to avoid interest from cops and showering in rest stop sinks. Generally finding himself up against a ledge every way he turned. DEA is always sniffin' around and Mr White doesn't give a shit, about any of it, and as pathetic as it is, that bastard is the only stable presence in his life at the moment. He's willing to give Jesse a couple hundred each week, like some kind of _allowance_ which pisses Jesse right the fuck off. He seriously needs to find a way to change things around, and _fast_. He didn't realize how much his every decision relied on cash until he didn't have any. Hell, there's a lot that he doesn't have now that he'd never given thought to before. Like a bed. Damn, but he misses his bed. Having to sleep with a gas mask on most nights 'cus he'd wake himself up coughing and spluttering like he was drowning, not always because of nightmares but likely because the RV was saturated with fumes. Even leaving the windows open to air it out, boxes pressed up to one side so he could lay out a sleeping roll on the other still wasn't enough. His entire living space now is no bigger than his room back at home. Suffocating and maddening.

Not all the money Mr White gives him goes directly to fueling up the Crystal Ship, though. Jesse's squirreling some aside, always on his person just in case the RV is raided. Damn DEA doesn't need any more of his cash. But the new rainy day fund is going to a new ride, one that he can slink away in if needed; a place he can sleep without coughing up a lung. The last thing he needs is to go n' get lung cancer, like that asshole. No way in hell are they gonna be treatment buddies – holding hands as they took rounds of radiation together.

"–ou okay? Jesse? Jesse. Hey, man, seriously…"

Jesse startles when Badger puts his hand on his shoulder. At his flinch, Badger pulls away like he's been burned and holds both hands up in a nonthreatening display.

"Hey. It's okay. You alright? Lost you for a second, dude."

"Uhm. Yeah, no, fine. I'm fine." Jesse shakes his head to clear it and scratches behind his ear through the beanie nervously. "Sorry."

"Nah, nah. It's cool." Badger hesitates, staring at Jesse questioningly for a long moment and Jesse shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. "When was the last time you ate," Badger questions softly.

"I…" Jesse feels his brows furrow, which pulls the beanie down further to push against the fur of his ears irritatingly. He couldn't remember. There'd been a quick run to a gas station to fuel up the Crystal Ship a while back. He'd gotten a pack of donuts, then, hadn't he? Or was that the gas trip before? He'd been so dedicated to his rainy day fund that he hadn't allowed himself to spare much money for anything other than fuel. The drinks today had been two-for-one and he honestly had been craving something sweet – kitty gene or not – and felt it was ok to splurge three bucks on his birthday, but he couldn't remember eating. He hasn't felt all that hungry in a bit, now that he thinks about it.

"Yo. _Yo_, man!" Badger snaps his fingers in front of Jesse's face and sighs when he finally has the blond's attention again. "You're scarin' me. Are you on something?"

"No," Jesse mutters honestly. The stash he'd had ran out a weeks ago, and after losing the house his priorities had shifted – acquiring more drugs were on the bottom of his list. As much of a dumb, worthless junkie as Mr White views him as, Jesse doesn't dare risk throwing his _allowance_ away like that. He doesn't need the old bastard holding that over his head along with everything else.

"Alright, change of plans." Badger stands up and looks down at Jesse with what the blond hopes isn't pity.

Jesse frowns down at his cup and fights the disappointment that look sparks in him. He'd asked for Badger's help when he'd needed a place to crash but didn't push when the other man refused him. For a long time they've lived out of each other's pockets, and they'd helped pick each other up during the bad times but he doesn't need his friend to _pity_ him. He can handle this, he'll show them all.

"Alright, new terms: you owe me a sketch still but we're getting food first. Then we're going to the art shop. Then you're coming back to my place. Mom is out for a business seminar for the weekend – so you're staying with me; she doesn't have to know. We'll do a horror movie marathon like back in the day, yeah?"

Jesse looks up, eyes wide. Hesitant to agree immediately, because it's been suggested so suddenly, it could surely be taken away just as suddenly; besides, what can he possibly offer in return? Jesse pulls his cup closer to his chest and bites the inside of his cheek. At Badger's soft smile and nod of his head towards the car, Jesse stands and grins back. His purr the entire way to the car lot is enough of an answer.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yeah, Peach, you bitch! Get back in second where you belong," Jesse crows, maneuvering Yoshi back into first. He glances down the split-screen to catch a glimpse of Badger's ranking. "_Whaaaat?_ How're ya _still_ in eighth?" Jesse asks in exaggerated disappointment and shoots a green shell back at Peach when she draws too close, laughing at the direct hit. "Yeah! No scope!" Jesse is drunk, got a totally nice buzz started. Totally buzzed. Buzzing? Like a bee.

"Can bees get drunk?"

"What?" Badger laughs and shakes his head. "Focus on the game – Peach is gonna beat you."

"Like hell!" Jesse growls and focuses on the race again. Digging out the 64 had been a brilliant idea. Classics never died, and the gritty graphics always sparked a sense of nostalgia. Drinking while playing only made the games even more entertaining. Everything is warm and his limbs are heavy. And fuzzy. But, y'know, not _fuzzy_ fuzzy, like his ears. Which are aggravating and keep twitching and even though he'd taken off his beanie and swipes at them occasionally, they won't stop. They're warm, too. Like his hands, which have a pulse; he can feel it around the controller. Do they always have a pulse? Why did he never remember that when he was sober?

"I'm still in eighth because this level is fucking stupid," Badger grouses. He swears vehemently when another penguin slids into him. "Seriously? _Seriously?_ Is Luigi a penguin magnet or something?!"

"You gotta drift, man; right trigger."

"Shut up, I know the buttons."

Jesse laughs, and concedes genially, "Alright, alright." Everything is tilting slightly. To the left. He feels like he's on a boat: tilt, tilt, tilting with the tide. Swaying.

"Dude, you're gonna fall over. Stop leaning to the left."

Jesse chuckles thickly. "Oh. That's me?" he asks, then attempts to clarify, "Me? The ocean? Doing that?" He drops a full trail of bananas and watches as Peach and Toad wipe out on them. He grins sloppily at Badger, who's sitting next to him at a very funny angle with the whisky bottle held to his lips.

Badger smiles back and pushes Jesse upright. "Yeah, dumbass, that's you doing that." He takes a long pull from the bottle before setting it between them again.

Yoshi crosses the finish line – in first, because Jesse is a badass, thanks – and the blond sets the controller on the ground to stretch contentedly. Jesse hums, not quite in reply but simply in acknowledgement of Badger having said something. Badger's voice can be soothing sometimes, when he isn't being an ass. Jesse is torn from his musings when Chompy, Badger's scrawny marble tabby housecat, scampers into the room chasing a neon green plastic ball that evidently holds a bell inside. Jesse's ears slant towards the sparkling noise, but he aggressively strangles his curiosity. Chompy rolls with the ball and thumps solidly into Jesse's side, giving him a cursory sniff when he regains his paws. Jesse reaches down to scratch the cat's back for a moment and the housecat, seemingly compelled to live up to its name, twists and chomps down on Jesse's hand, albeit lightly.

Jesse grins and strokes a thumb across Chompy's cheek just before the cat springs away, batting the ball back down the hall. Jesse hums again when Badger says something else, but hopes he isn't agreeing to anything because he's stopped following the conversation.

The food which Badger had treated him to had been mildly greasy and spicy which was not Jesse's favorite, but it had been filling. Jesse hadn't known how hungry he'd truly been until he'd started eating. He'd even taken one of Badger's enchiladas when the man had offered. And at the end they'd had sopaipillas, but not from the Sopaipilla Factory in Santa Fe – which wasn't truly a factory, but could be, if it wanted to be. With workers at conveyor belts and ovens who wore little hats, making sopaipillas all day. Jesse likes his sopaipillas with honey. Lots of it. Honey is good; makes the kitty gene quiet. Best to blame the kitty gene. Adults aren't supposed to like sweets as much as he does; it definitely has to be the kitty gene. Housecats don't like sweets, do they? Would they eat sopaipillas with honey?

"Sopaipilla," Jesse mumbles and follows it up with a breathy chuckle, pawing lightly at the whisky bottle to watch the amber liquid slosh around. Badger's liquor cabinet always had the good stuff – the man's mom wouldn't allow cheap drinks into the house. Badger didn't always share though, only when Jesse knew he'd done something to make the other man think he owed him, or if Jesse had been looking particularly wretched. Jesse assumes it's easily the latter that inspired Badger to open the cabinet tonight.

Badger finally crosses the finish line – in eighth, because he apparently loves penguins a lot – and sets his controller aside as well. "Yeah, you already had three, with enough honey to drown a bear," Badger reminds with a gentle nudge of his elbow to Jesse's side.

The friendly contact against sensitive ribs elicits a purr from Jesse. The blond frowns sharply and struggles to choke the noise back. He clumsily edges away from Badger. "Sorry. That, uhm—I… I didn't mean to do that."

Badger shrugs. "It's fine."

"No," Jesse sulks. "S'dumb. Annoying." He scrubs at his face in irritation before swiping the bottle up and taking another drink. Should probably stop drinking. He's really only used to cheap beer anymore, choosing to spend money on pot and crystal over liquor, and now only saving his spare cash. But anytime he isn't at one-hundred percent, it's harder to limit his mutant tendencies.

"It's cute," Badger teases, "like a little kitty. Chompy purrs a lot, too."

Jesse huffs and scowls at the television as the game lists the race stats. They'd forgone the horror movie marathon after Badger'd sensed Jesse's hesitation in picking through the slasher movies he'd originally presented; all gore and twisted faces on the cases. Jesse had had enough of that in real life to last him a while, but didn't want to say anything, didn't want to look weak. He'd almost settled on one he figured would turn his stomach the least when Badger had knocked them to the floor and mentioned the additions to his comedy collection without much subtlety. When he began to dig around for those lighter movies, a few old game cartridges had fallen out of his entertainment cabinet and Jesse had been unable to resist asking whether the other man still had his console. The distraction the games provided was very welcome to Jesse and the addition of liquor had made the night even better.

Jesse turns the bottle over in his hand. "Tha's why it's dumb," Jesse slurs. D'ya know how often I got m'ass kicked for that shit? School was embarrassin'. It was okay when I was lil'." It was better to avoid contact entirely, made things easier. Jesse tugs at one of his ears self-consciously, pulling roughly at the furry edge until Badger flicks the back of the offending hand.

Badger takes the bottle back from him and makes an unimpressed noise. "People are assholes, man. You can't let losers get you down." He takes a pull from the bottle and adds, "'Sides, we met in high school."

Jesse smiles. "Yeah, Junior year was cool." Well, minus meeting Mr White. If he could have avoided that damning twist of fate, things might be better. He watches as Badger leans forward to turn the system off before grabbing the remote. The brunette switches the tv mode to display the desktop of his tower, pulling up his Netflix account.

"Louis CK?" He suggests considerately.

Jesse grins. "Yeah." He yawns widely, flashing his teeth, a soft mew escaping at the end. He scrubs at his face again. The food and drink are beginning to make him sluggish. He's content, and even the thought of sleeping on Badger's floor is a pleasant thought. Carpeted floor definitely beats the linoleum of the Crystal Ship. He doesn't exactly want the floor but knows he hasn't properly bathed in days and doesn't want to push his luck with all that Badger has already given him by demanding the sofa. Maybe if Badger is still feeling generous in the morning, Jesse could bum a change of clothes and a shower. That hopeful idea and the sound of Badger laughing – nearly doubled over – at the comedian on the screen sparks a quiet rumble from within his chest and before Jesse can choke it back again, Badger rubs his knuckles down the entire length of Jesse's spine absentmindedly.

The blond all but melts to the floor, warmth rushing up his back, turning his muscles to water. He curls up on his side as that damned rumble continually crawls out his throat. Badger's knuckles make another pass and Jesse reaches clumsily for his hoodie from where he'd discarded it earlier, atop his new sketch book and Conté sticks, to bury his flushed face in it. He waits expectantly for Badger's teasing or laughter, ears pressed tightly to his skull and eyes screwed shut. But after a few moments of nothing more than that comforting downward slide of knuckles against his back, Jesse relaxes, ears returning to resting position and his white-knuckled hold on his hoodie loosening. His anxiety had suppressed most of his purring but now that he isn't afraid the other man is going to make him feel worthless, the sound grows in intensity. The only noise in the living room is Jesse's deep rumbling purr and the uninterrupted comedian's voice.

Jesse feels ashamed that an act meant for Chompy, a pet, something _lesser,_ should make him feel so safe and warm. When a few chuckles escaped Badger, Jesse forces himself to pretend that the man is simply tuning back into the comedian's set; the blond can't be entirely sure because it is near impossible to focus on anything other than the warmth radiating from his spine up to his skull.

Purring had always had a sedative affect on Jesse, but combined with the liquor, it is overwhelming. He feels himself slipping at a dizzying speed. The room is undulating around him. The floor is a living thing, tilting beneath him. He frowns slightly, and twists until his hips rest snugly against Badger's side and his shins press into the front of the sofa they'd been leaning against. The new position anchors the blond – the room stops spinning and he kneads at his hoodie contentedly for a moment. The top of his torso and his face remain in the same position, hidden in his hoodie and facing away from Badger. The curve of his spine is still somewhat exposed to his friend's steady hand, the knuckles running firmly down the knobs of vertebrae they can reach before trailing across his ribs.

The blond interrupts his purring with another yawn, punctuated again by a mew which is muffled by his hoodie. He blinks sleepily into the dark material when Badger carefully drapes the blanket from the back of the sofa over him.

"Go to sleep, dude," Badger orders softly.

Jesse's eyes slip shut again. He offers a short series of rhythmic purrs before he lets sleep drag him under.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse startles awake from a discordant dream suddenly, unsure as to what ripped him from sleep until he hears it again: gunshots. Badger swears sharply from somewhere above him and Jesse springs to his feet, before ducking down again and dive-tackling Badger to the floor out of the line of potential fire.

"Whoa, hey, what the fuck?" Badger struggles against Jesse for a second until he freezes under the blond, staring up into Jesse's panicked eyes.

"Wha—what's happening?" Jesse croaks out, glancing over his shoulder, lying protectively over the brunette. It takes a second for his surroundings to register. They're in Badger's basement, and they're alone. He's tackled Badger far enough that they're nearly against the television. The screen draws his attention as another series of gunshots crack over the speakers – a FPS and Badger's character is taking damage, leftmost edge flashing red. His ears flick erratically, tracking the noise as it zips across the surround sound; the speakers set into the ceiling directly over the sofa behind them are what cause another icy drop of fear to travel down his spine. But the danger is all artificial.

The blond sighs heavily just as the adrenaline spiking through him clashes with the embarrassment that he can feel heating his face now. "S-shit, sorry. I thought…" Jesse frowns, grinding his teeth. He starts trembling in the aftermath of the scare and moves to pull away but Badger's arms rise up to wrap around him firmly.

"Sorry," Badger says gruffly. "I wasn't thinking, man. I shoulda put in a different game, or muted that shit, or woke you but you look like you haven't slept in days and I didn't want—"

"S'ok," Jesse mumbles, hoping to stop Badger's guilty rambling. The man always talks too much when he's nervous or worried. He consciously uncoils his muscles, all tight with fight-or-flight energy, and wriggles out of Badger's hold. He scrubs his hand through his hair and down his face in embarrassment.

Badger laughs in a slightly strained tone. "Damn, man, but you're quick. Didn't even know you were awake until you were all over me. You and your crazy kitty-ninja moves almost gave me a heart attack. I wouldn't do well in war, dude."

Jesse huffs a laugh out his nose and quirks a smile at him. It's all he can offer. He's still shaking like he has the flu and he can't get his jaw to relax.

Badger uses the controller to turn the PlayStation off, desolate battlefield and gunfire disappearing in a flash. He flips the tv mode to his computer again, kicks up Netflix and queues up a few comedies from the recommended list.

By the time Badger looks at him again, Jesse's jaw has relaxed but he's still off-center. He hopes his eyes don't look as crazed or as teary as he fears they do. He glances up warily when Badger stands. He tenses, ears snapping back to his skull when Badger reaches for him; not quite a full flinch, because he fought that down, but close enough. It's enough to make Badger hesitate for a beat before offering his hand again to the blond. Jesse chokes on his embarrassment at the sad expression on Badger's face and grabs the other man's forearm just as Badger grabs his. The brunette easily lifts him from the floor before dragging him back to the sofa. It's been made up with sheets and a couple thick blankets, a pillow thrown carelessly near one armrest.

Before Jesse can protest – he was only going to make the whole setup dirty – Badger pushes him into the makeshift bed.

When he lands in the plush blankets, his instinct is to burrow further. It's such a contrast from the floor of the Crystal Ship and even the carpeted floor he had earlier that a stilted purr rises weakly from his confused frame. His muscles still shake with useless adrenalin and he startles again when Badger sits next to his head.

Badger reaches out and cups a warm hand around the back of Jesse's neck silently, 'scruffing' him. Jesse's body immediately loosens. His limbs draw up to his core and his mind goes blank – he doesn't even have the energy to feel humiliated the longer Badger keeps his hand there, massaging the muscles lightly. The contrast between Badger's hold and Tuco's – because that sadist had grabbed him often by the neck and memories of that psycho are exactly where Jesse's mind had gotten stuck when he'd heard the artificial gunshots – are day and night. He feels safe here, and the lack of control is willingly endured if Badger has the wheel. He knows his friend won't do anything to him.

Badger eventually removes his hand and sighs heavily above Jesse. After being 'freed,' Jesse's energy and instincts burst forth again and he nuzzles into the blankets, digging into the soft comforter. He ducks under the blankets when Badger lifts them for him, pressed as close as he can be to the back of the sofa. His muscles have stopped jumping and he butts his head against Badger's leg in a clumsy thanks.

"Sorry," Badger tries again hoarsely.

"Quit apologizing, _Jesus_," Jesse mumbles into the sofa cushion, hidden beneath the comforter.

It doesn't take but a few heartbeats before Badger asks, "What was that about?"

Jesse frowns, though Badger can't see it. He hesitates, fists flexing. "Already told you some of what went down, with Tuco."

"Yeah, you did."

Jesse doesn't offer anything else. He hopes Badger will be content enough to connect the dots himself. He doesn't want to admit that he can't sleep because he keeps having nightmares where things go wrong. Nightmares in which Tuco flies into a demented rage and beats the shit out of him again; or where Mr White successfully convinces Tuco that Jesse is the only one he needs, readily allowing Jesse to be sacrificed so that he can escape; or hell, even nightmares that twist with old man Salamanca eating the ricin – the guilt is unexpectedly devastating. There had been a few nights when Jesse had snapped awake out of nightmares positive he'd been shot; heat from phantom bullets ripping through his chest so convincing that he'd had to pat himself down, always surprised when his hands didn't come back bloody.

"Don't wanna talk about it?" Badger prompts.

No, not really. He just wants to forget it. He wants to forget turning people into meat slushies, of having guns aimed at him, of being shoved in his own goddamn trunk. He wishes he had a Reset button he could punch. Wishes he had the courage to drop everything and just drive away. Drive on a straight course until the fuel and cash and fear bled away, never turning back.

Badger's hand fumbles its way to the back of his skull under the blanket. He flinches at the initial contact but doesn't say anything when Badger starts scratching behind his ears. He can feel himself relaxing in inches. His mind is a stopped sink that is slowly filling by means of a dripping faucet; his thoughts are getting lethargic again. He must be pretty pathetic for Badger to coddle him this much. The other man rarely touched him unless he was injured or on a bad trip.

"You've been in bad spots but you're still good, man. Yo, you thought we were getting shot at when you woke up, right? And that had to be scary, but, like, you woulda saved my life. Right? Like Batman or some shit."

Jesse thinks back to his automatic impulse to protect Badger, even going so far as to shield him with his body. Not that Jesse has much sense of self-preservation these days, almost wishing for something to end it, but the fact was that before he was even fully conscious, Badger had immediately been his top priority. The thought is sobering. "Apparently," he says gruffly. Badger's hand falls still in surprise, and Jesse butts his head against it to get him to continue.

Eventually Badger continues, fingers moving deftly against Jesse's skull. The blond sighs beneath the covers and draws his knees up to his chest, tucking himself into a small ball. The other man doesn't push for more conversation and gradually Jesse slips into sleep again, cocooned in warm blankets that smell of vanilla detergent which summons memories of Aunt Ginny's baking before cancer ruined everything.


	3. Chapter 3

Jesse wakes to the Imperial March at what must be eighty decibels. He makes a small noise of protest as he's dragged from sleep, clutching the blanket in a loose fist. His ears flick in annoyance as the song refuses to stop; it's deafening in the previously empty air. He struggles against the firm hold of an unexpectedly restful sleep, the warmth he's wrapped in coaxing him back under. He blinks drowsily in confusion, rolling back against soft cushions rather than cardboard boxes. It takes a moment to realize he's in Badger's basement; the prior day's memories slow in returning. He glances around for the source of the song, ears turning lazily to his phone. He yawns, scratching behind one fuzzy triangle. The blankets fall from him in a warm bundle as he rolls from the sofa to his feet nimbly. Leaning forward in a languid stretch, Jesse scoops up his phone and confirms that its speakers are the source. He flips it over – the screen displays an incoming call from Mr White. The new ringtone definitely has to be Badger's doing; while it's fitting, Jesse would never download something _that_ nerdy.

Jesse smirks and answers, "'Lo?"

"Jesse, _finally_," Mr White growls in irritation. "Where the hell do you keep your phone? I've been calling you for _twenty minutes_. When I call, you need to _answer_, Jesse. I can't always get away often enough to risk a call – you know my family is already starting to suspect things and I can't keep finding reasons to get away. The next time I call, you _must_ be ready, or this isn't going to work."

Jesse yawns, missing part of Mr White's rant. He isn't anybody's bitch and sure as hell isn't going to jump every time that bastard demands it, but it's less painful to just let Mr White talk. He gives a thoughtless hum in reply.

Mr White sighs. "Anyway. We need to meet."

The blond crawls back under the welcomingly warm blankets and mumbles, "Why?"

Mr White scoffs audibly and Jesse muses over reasons they'd have to meet but fails to find any through downy sleep-logic. He nuzzles into the pillow beneath him, picking up traces of Badger's familiar cologne. Still that same comforting wooden scent he's worn since high school. It tickles his nose.

"For our weekly _tea time_, princess," Mr White growls. "What do _you think,_ you druggie? We need to cook."

Mr White is sure emphasizing a lot of words, Jesse thinks drowsily, eyes slipping shut. Sleep teases the edges of his conscious and he can feel the telltale curling contentment that preludes a purr; it's been weeks since he's slept this well but the thought of Mr White hearing him purr is enough to have Jesse abruptly alert, tugging and twisting at an ear until tears spring to his eyes. The purr dies before it begins and he subconsciously flattens his ears to his skull to prevent more abuse, even from his own hand. His throat is constricted but he manages to croak out, "Cook? It's only been a week."

"Yeah. Sabbatical's over."

"No, I mean, we still have product from the last batch."

"Now is good; the timing is perfect. I'll be able to get away _now_ and can't assume that I'll be able to _later,_ so we cook now."

"Yeah, but, y'know, supply and demand? Demand won't be high right now."

"Oh, and you would know about 'high,' wouldn't you," Mr White growls abrasively.

Jesse sighs audibly.

"It isn't like we're baking pies, Jesse; the product will keep. We're meeting today. So where's the RV? Your house?"

Jesse's eyes snap open. "What house? Yo, you can't be serious." The blond sits up, shoving the blankets aside, brows furrowing sharply in anger. "What house," he asks again between clenched teeth. "I don't _have_ one, anymore, remember? Seriously?" Jesse knows that he's repeating himself but he can't wrap his mind around this. He knew Mr White didn't give a shit, but did it matter so little to this asshole that he couldn't even bother to remember? Hell, the man's been handing over that stupid allowance for _weeks_, now; he has to remember that Jesse's homeless.

"Oh, right," Mr White says after a pause, like he had to take time to _recall_ that life-changing fact. "Well, where is it, then? Where's your new place?"

Jesse's just about to bark out _what new place, asshole_ but decides against it – Mr White wouldn't care that he hasn't found a new place yet, wouldn't care that he's struggling because that shit doesn't factor into the bald bastard's Big Picture plans. "Doesn't matter," Jesse grumbles instead, defensive and angry. The Crystal Ship is currently in a short-term lot. He'd left it there early yesterday, walking to the park to meet Badger because his friend had insisted he'd drive all day. Jesse had figured he'd get it after they hung out but then the brunet had surprised him with the impromptu sleepover. Mr White doesn't need to know where it is, because they're gonna have to meet first before driving out to the desert to cook, and the bastard had made it clear Jesse isn't to bring it anywhere near the man's house. But Mr White's insistence is making Jesse's cat-brain anxious. Is he planning on taking the Crystal Ship from under Jesse once he learns its location? Or even considering leading the DEA to what is now essentially Jesse's doorstep? Unless it's all much simpler than that – maybe the bastard just wants to rile Jesse up by pretending he forgot. Jesse flops back into the makeshift bed, screwing his eyes shut in frustration. It's way too early to be jumping over the tripwires that are Mr White's mind games.

"Listen, Jesse, I'm sorry about your current living situation. But if we cook, the money we earn will turn that all around," the man cajoles gently, voice sweet and reasonable.

Jesse huffs. He knows he's being played, but the soft-spoken way about it makes it easier to allow. He still refuses to give up the Crystal Ship's location, though; it's one of the few things Jesse can have over Mr White. "When are we meeting?"

"Ten should work," Mr White replies quickly, voice hard and business-strict again. "Out by Costco, the usual parking spot."

"Sure," the blond agrees halfheartedly.

"Don't be late," Mr White growls before hanging up.

"Bastard," Jesse mumbles into the pillow, letting his phone drop to the floor. "Always gotta have the last word." He drags his hand down his face tiredly before his ears pull back lethargically to catch the sound of Badger's unmistakable gait in the quiet room.

"Mornin', kitty-cat," Badger says gravelly over the back of the sofa.

Jesse doesn't pick his head up from the pillow, grumbling into the soft material, "You better be talking to Chompy, you jerk, or we're gonna have a problem."

Badger laughs and Jesse finally rolls over to peer up at him.

"So here, I sold another ounce Tuesday." Badger hands a small roll of cash over. "Figured you could give it to Darth now, instead of the usual trade day. Y'know, so he'd get off your ass."

Jesse grins, turning the roll over in his hand. It might not do much, but potentially, it would make Mr White a bit easier to handle today. Cash was seriously all that guy thought about. "Thanks, man."

"And here," Badger continues, tossing a pile of clothes into Jesse's lap, "that shirt is one you left here last time. The other stuff you can get back to me whenever."

Jesse picks through the clothes: dark jeans; his blue shirt, the one with the stylized card suits down the left side; and Badger's hoodie, the Pac-Man one. "Yo, isn't this your favorite, though?"

Badger shrugs. "I got enough of 'em, man. 'Sides, yours looks like it's been through hell. Leave it here, I'll wash it then we can trade them later."

Jesse grins, clutching the clothes greedily. He's purring unabashedly, looking up just in time to catch Badger smiling at him fondly before the other man glances away.

"I figure Darth was callin' you to meet up?"

"Yeah, ten o' clock." Jesse frowns for a beat, but it isn't enough to kill his purr.

Badger hums in reply. "Alright. Take a shower and we'll head out."

Jesse nearly trips over himself, eager to take a shower but reluctant to start the day if it means he has to leave.

"Towels are in the closet," Badger calls over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs, oblivious to Jesse's dilemma.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse had spent an indulgently long time in the shower, quite possibly using up all of Badger's warm water and leaving behind enough steam that a family of red-eyed tree frogs would be comfortable. But the feel of the plush washcloth and finally feeling clean had been enough to quell his guilt. Even now, sitting in the passenger seat of Badger's car, Jesse couldn't stop the continuous rumble from his chest, a content purr that had started the second he'd stepped under the warm spray of the showerhead and hadn't stopped since.

"You're just as noisy as the engine," Badger teases from behind the wheel, speeding up to catch a yellow light before it changes.

The blond growls quietly in annoyance but it quickly passes, throat settling back into a purr. He slouches down in his seat, feet on the dash and knees tucked to his chest. He buries his face in his borrowed hoodie in an attempt to mute himself.

Jesse's phone chirps at him in what he unfortunately recognizes as the Communicator sound from Star Trek. He has a mini flashback of Badger insisting he know how to do the Vulcan salute, molding Jesse's fingers until the muscles learned the hold. He can't fight his grin at the new noise, glancing to Badger questioningly. The brunet whistles innocently from the driver's seat. Jesse huffs a laugh and wriggles to dig out his phone. He looks down at the screen to find a text from Mr White: **1000**

"Yeah, yeah," Jesse grumbles. "Ten o'clock. Like I already forgot. Asshole." He remains in his tucked position but his purr is notably absent.

Badger smirks and glances over. "Still enough time to grab something to eat. Waffles?"

"What'd you call me?" Jesse asks mock defensively to startle a laugh out of Badger. "So did you change everything on my phone, or what?"

"You'll just have to wait and be surprised," Badger replies through a grin.

"Yeah, or I could just check the settings," Jesse mumbles, dragging up the tools.

"Well, yeah, I guess you could, if you wanted to be boring, man."

Jesse looks over at his companion, unimpressed. Badger is concentrating on the road and refuses to spare him another glance. Jesse finally sighs. "Fine." He shoves his phone back into his pocket. "Guess I'll just be surprised when some incriminating, nerdy song gets me my ass kicked."

Badger laughs. "Nah, the only bad one is Mr White's, swear." He flashes a grin at Jesse. "Might wanna change that one." Badger eases them into the next lane before turning sharply to squeeze out of traffic into a parking lot. The turn is tight enough to have Jesse flailing out of his position, knocking his head against Badger's outstretched arm lightly.

"_Yo,_ _dude,_" Jesse growls.

Laughing, Badger parks. "Sorry, man, didn't know I wanted this place 'til we almost passed it. They make awesome omelets here." He jumps out of the car and Jesse follows.

"Mornin', dears," a smiling waitress greets them, tray in hand filled with empty plates. "Two?" At their nods she asks, "Table or booth?"

"Booth," Badger answers.

Jesse nods in agreement. The sounds of the diner – clinking cutlery, animated conversation, and a crying kid – pull his attention in several directions until Badger nudges him casually, following after the waitress.

They settle in the booth, Badger picking the seat with his back to the door so Jesse's forced to take the seat against the wall with a full view of the diner, where he's most comfortable. He relaxes at the gesture; unsure at this point if Badger's even conscious of making decisions like that for him anymore.

"What'll it be, boys? Or do you need a minute?" She asks, setting the tray on a table behind her to grab her pen and pad.

"Deluxe omelet for me, everything on it – no onions. And a Coke. He'll have waffles, scrambled eggs and strawberry milk."

Jesse nods again in confirmation at the woman's inquiring gaze. She smiles at him and asks sweetly, "What kind of syrup, hun?"

"Uhm, blueberry?"

"Comin' up. You boys hold tight."

Jesse turns to Badger and watches the other man place his wallet on the table, a silent offer to pay. The blond hesitates a moment, fiddling with one of the hoodie's drawstrings.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, man, no worries," Badger replies.

Jesse grins, purring revving up in his chest. He inevitably gets sucked into Badger's nerd vortex and they spend the meal arguing who would win in a battle between the Hulk and Spider-Man.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Mr White sets aside a second box, grumbling, "You should separate your stuff from the chemistry equipment."

Jesse rolls his eyes. Odds are, even if his stuff had been set to the side, Mr White still would have complained about it being in the way. He continues to clear the counter, moving his stuff toward the passenger seat and making an effort to keep Mr White from going through his shit unnecessarily.

A bright ball of light flashes across the wall and Jesse trips over himself in an effort to catch it. He slams into the side of the Crystal Ship and the jolt is enough to snap him out of his stupid kitty-gene urge. He glances up when he notices the all-consuming silence and flushes hotly when he finds Mr White staring at him in confusion and then disdain.

"Are you high right now, Jesse?" He asks tensely.

"What? No, I, uhm…I tripped," Jesse lies, unwilling to find out what the man's response would be to Jesse playing with light like a housecat.

Mr White gives an unimpressed hum and turns back to his work. His watch catches the light from the window again and Jesse watches the bright ball dance across the wall of the Crystal Ship. The blond firmly stays on task, ignoring the taunting light just within his peripheral.

Finally having cleaned up as much as he can, Jesse snags the gas mask and puts it on, mindful of the beanie he's still wearing.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Uhm, gearing up, yo," Jesse replies slowly, looking over to Mr White in confusion. Isn't it obvious what he's doing?

"Not with that mask, you aren't."

Jesse raises an eyebrow at the man questioningly. What was wrong with it? He'd been using it for weeks to sleep, lying over a spot where a guy _died_, and he'd never had an issue with it keeping fumes out of his lungs. Before he can even consider taking it off to look it over, Mr White is in his space. The older man reaches up, gripping the nape of Jesse's neck roughly in a knowing hold before dragging him forward and down. Jesse's too frozen with a mix of fear and the unsettling helplessness that always accompanies that hold to do more than whine in the back of his throat.

"We only have the one," the bald man grinds out, tearing the mask over Jesse's head, upsetting his beanie.

Jesse keeps his ears tucked back, fumbling with his beanie in a clumsy catch before it can hit the ground. Mr White's seen his ears before, but he'd occasionally catch the man staring a little too intently at them and it always made him jumpy. He quickly covers them again. "So, like, what, _you_ get to use it? We only have one because you lost the other, and you have yet to replace it," Jesse reminds harshly, bravado returning as soon as Mr White steps out of his space again. He eyes the mask in the older man's grip.

"Overlooking the fact that stealing another would set the DEA on my trail again, I'll remind you that before our arrangement, you cooked without one. In fact, you laughed at the idea of even using one." Mr White fits the mask into place over his head, loosening the straps slightly to accommodate his bigger skull.

The blond frowns. "Whatever, man. Look, you already _got_ lung cancer, s'all I'm sayin'."

Mr White looks at him expectantly through the shield of the mask, waiting for him to continue.

But Jesse's got nothing, and he turns away to break the eye contact. He figures he'll at least have the mask tonight, and that's when it matters anyway. He wrenches open the windows, props open the flimsy door. He drags his sleep gear out into the desert, setting it near one of the tires. He wriggles out of the hoodie Badger gave him, folding it haphazardly over his sleep roll to save it from too much exposure to the smoke they'll be saturated in soon. He sighs heavily, delaying his return to his ex-teacher by rearranging the stack of his meager belongings. His phone suddenly blares the start of the 90's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme and he jumps in surprise. It cuts off just as suddenly and is followed by the chirp of the Star Trek Communicator. He grins and reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone. The text from Badger reads: **Sorry meant to text not call. Off to work. See ya later.**

Jesse shakes his head, fighting the grin on his face. He quickly types back: **That song is gonna be stuck in my head all day now, thx**

He slips his phone back into his pocket and his fingertips brush something soft. He tugs out the handkerchief Badger had given him to use at the diner in lieu of a napkin and gives up on fighting his grin.

He doesn't waste any time tying the handkerchief on, tugging it snugly into place over his nose. He catches the faint scent of blueberry syrup, and its reason enough to grin again behind his improvised mask. He tightens the knot at the base of his skull and slips back into the Crystal Ship to organize the glassware in order of use. He hands Mr White one of the primary flasks before needing to be asked and shrugs off the subsequent thanks the man gruffly offers.

Light catches the man's watch again and Jesse sullenly ignores it, turning most of his focus inward to resist humming the TMNT theme song.


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse sits cross-legged in his lawn chair, enjoying the last drags of his cigarette. Though it's his only one, he's grateful to have found it in the crumpled pack at the bottom of his duffle. He definitely needs it after today's cook, which had been awkward and harsh. Jesse is still unsure as to what the cause was, whether it was him offering Badger's money early or something else in the cancer patient's life that had made today so horrible. Jesse had been smacked in the head no less than seven times for making "mistakes" within the first ten minutes before he learned to keep out of that asshole's reach. Everything had evened out into barbed comments after that, which Jesse preferred over bruises. Though, when Mr White hadn't been insulting him, he had been eerily quiet, like a storm gathering strength before another strike. It had all left Jesse exhausted, feeling edgy and utterly inept.

He flips the cover of his new lighter open and shut rhythmically, focusing on the soothing sound while his cigarette burns down to nothing between his lips. He takes his last draw – regretting briefly that it isn't a hit of something stronger – and stubs it out on the sole of his shoe, finally pocketing what's essentially a filter. He isn't much for recycling or being environmentally conscious, but he figures if they're going to be frequenting this spot, the last thing they need is to leave stuff behind like they did last time. It's easier to imagine these trips as the short camping excursions he went on as a child – few and as infrequent as they were. His father always insisted that they leave their site as they found it, and it only took one beating for Jesse to get that his dad was serious. He'd never left another wrapper or anything that wasn't biodegradable behind again.

He digs around his pockets and exchanges his lighter for his roll of Life Savers. It's not as good as gum, but it'll help get the acrid taste of smoke outta his mouth. He can hear Mr White stomping around the Crystal Ship but he doesn't pay him much mind; they have a good four more minutes until they can pour the batch to let it rest and Jesse won't be needed until then. He tears open the roll and without fail, his least favorite is first. He snaps it off from the rest and promptly flings it out into the desert. The ring that follows, he happily eats.

"What are you doing?" Mr White's question booms through the empty air.

Jesse jumps in his seat, still too tense to mask the motion for anything than what it is. He clears his throat and scrubs at his right ear through his beanie to rid it of the tickle from slanting back to his ex-teacher's voice. "Takin' a break here, boss," he tosses back casually.

The blond can _feel_ the older man's frown.

"I can't tell if you're being a smartass or if you truly just quoted a movie you're far too young to know."

"Dad's a movie nerd," Jesse offers in place of a solid answer, crunching his way through another candy. Badger's a movie nerd, too, but Mr White doesn't need his whole life story.

Mr White finally steps out of the RV and takes a seat in the adjacent lawn chair, mopping sweat from his brow.

Jesse slips two more candies into his mouth and discreetly glances over to determine the man's mood. He's quiet but not eye-of-the-storm quiet. He seems tired, and Jesse imagines if Mr White raised his hand to him, Jesse could duck outta the bastard's way easily enough.

After deeming Mr White's mood as currently stable, the blond glances down to his roll of candy again. He clicks his current candy – cherry – against his teeth as he snaps the next one free, only to throw it into the desert in a wide arc.

"_That,_" Mr White says. "Why are you doing that?"

Jesse blinks and glances over again. "The candy? I'm getting rid of the gross ones. The purple ones? They're supposedly raspberry but they taste like death."

Mr White shakes his head and looks out into the desert, approximately where Jesse's been throwing his rejects.

"Why, afraid we're gonna get ants?" Jesse grins when his comment pulls a small chuckle from Mr White.

"I'm surprised you've lived this long, smartass," he mutters, removing his glasses for a moment to wipe his face down again. "Can you even taste them?" His face appears bored but his voice betrays his interest.

"Yeah…" Jesse stretches the answer out a bit in his confusion. "You mean, am I taking the time to taste them? Sometimes I like to crunch them." Jesse admits with a shrug.

"No, the sugar. Can you taste it?"

"I like sweet things," the blond replies, pawing at his nose for a moment to stop it from wrinkling in confusion.

Mr White hums lowly in thought and the sound mimics purring just enough that Jesse's attention is now riveted on the man. "Cats lack a fully functional Tas1r2 gene, which is involved in the network of receptors to taste sweets."

Jesse blinks. Huh. He isn't going to even ask how the other man knows that – he'd only get a sharp retort and he doesn't want to tempt the man's ire. He glances down at the candy again – orange is next and he happily bites it off the roll with his teeth. "Well, I'm still human, yo."

"I suppose I assumed with the recessive feline genes so prominent in your genetic code, other traits would follow."

This is the first time they've talked about Jesse's differences outright and it makes him fidget uncomfortably, lawn chair squeaking. It's much better when they pretend there's nothing noteworthy about him, when Mr White only addresses it in vague insults.

Mr White looks to his watch. He sighs and struggles to stand, enough that he could be mistaken for a seventy year old.

Jesse glances away to give him some semblance of privacy, thoughts drifting to Aunt Ginny. Cancer treatments had made her weak, too. It had made her skin thin, and she'd been ill a lot, often sick even with the bland foods Jesse consistently failed to perfect for her. She slept so often and deeply that Jesse had spent quite a few of his days checking on her apprehensively just to ensure she was still breathing. Tip-toeing to her bedside with trembling hands and ears pinned back in dread, always fearing the worst but despite that, still completely unprepared for the day it actually happened. He still remembers pleading with her to wake up, promising to try harder for her. He'd been coming down from another high and could almost convince himself he was hallucinating it all, that she was simply sleeping and his mind was exaggerating everything. He'd tried shaking her awake; his hand had seemed enormous on her delicate shoulder as he'd begged her to_ please wake up_.

Jesse yelps and springs out of his seat when Mr White shakes him by his shoulder. He stumbles back a step; eyes flicking up to Mr White's to find his surprise reflected there.

"Jesse, I…" Mr White watches him for a long moment before he frowns and looks away.

The blond stares with hyper-aware senses in his rush of fear as the muscles work in Mr White's jaw while he grinds his teeth.

"It's time to finish the batch," the man finally says, retreating to the Crystal Ship before Jesse can respond.

Jesse takes a moment to collect himself, scrubbing a hand down his face and forcing himself to unclench his fist from around the roll of candy he's stubbornly held on to in his fright. He checks out of habit to find which is next in line: pineapple, his favorite. He pockets the roll but not before popping that one in his mouth, briskly following after Mr White to avoid any reproach for delay.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

With only three sellers, their turn for profit is understandably low, but Jesse can't help thinking Mr White's suggestion to add more people to the business is a really, _really_ bad idea.

The bastard doesn't seem to get that these things take time. You can't go muscling into someone else's territory unless you were in the market for a Colombian necktie, and they'd only gotten _lucky_ in their past encounters with higher-ups. Jesse couldn't imagine running an operation without absolute trust among his sellers, which equated _knowing_ them, so introducing strangers into the equation made for too many variables.

Jesse doesn't envision himself ruling his sellers with an iron fist, can't be _Tuco_, because that would require rewriting everything about himself. He would never want his friends to look up to him in fear, and that doesn't make him submissive or weak, dammit, it makes him _human_.

They all had a good thing; it was just going to take time. For some reason, Mr White was insistent; more so than usual. It had to involve something at home, which would also explain the mood he'd been in during their cook this morning.

The blond rubs tenderly at a sore spot he can feel at the base of his skull – the swats he'd gotten with Mr White's left hand had stung all the more for the man's wedding ring.

Bottom line: there's a time to be aggressive and there's a time to let things ride.

If Mr White wants faster turn-around then Jesse will just have to help carry some weight. The name Heisenberg is gaining power and a few junkies know Jesse is moving up, but he doesn't feel that anybody's made the connection yet. Besides, Jesse is known as a seller regardless, so his regulars are used to seeing him. He just has to stay under the radar and avoid the DEA at all costs.

Slinking around a corner, Jesse slips into a crowd of known buyers standing just out of range of the liquor store's front-facing cameras. He passes a couple bags over in exchange for bundles of cash in quick, practiced movements disguised as greetings – fist-bumps that slide into loaded hand-offs and side-hugs than result in product being slipped into skinny girls' jeans and cash into his hoodie pockets.

He quickly makes his exit to avoid getting caught up in their plans for the night – he figures he can make a few more rounds before the night is through. Ducking into a dim alley besides the liquor store, Jesse flips through the cash, sharp eyes catching the flash of every note. He's been paid in full and the relief of not having to chase anyone down is an awesome feeling.

He slips back into the open and nearly runs into a wall of muscle, a guy that calls himself 'el Caballero.' The guy currently has a couple B&amp;E charges against him as well as a handful of sexual assault charges, all of which he brags about and then denies in equal measure. Jesse's seen the way the guy's 'friends' flinch at his exaggerated gestures and how they avoid being alone with him. The enormous man turns to Jesse and smiles predatorily. He reaches for Jesse but Jesse's smaller and more agile, slipping just out of reach and behind the 'roid freak into the open. Even without all the stories, there's something about this guy that makes the hair on Jesse's neck stand up.

"¿Qué pasa, gatito?" the man rumbles from above him, taking another step into Jesse's space.

"Cierra la boca, pendejo," Jesse growls, flashing his teeth briefly.

"Hey, vato, I only mean love," el Caballero says genially, grinning broadly. "You got anything for me, gatito?" His smile drops into something lewd and he makes another grab for Jesse, a slow, controlled movement meant to coax him into being docile.

Jesse dances out of his reach again, shaking himself despite not having been touched. "Nothin' for you, _caballo_." Jesse grins when his insult lands, when Caballero realizes he messed up intentionally. Jesse watches the man's face twist into rage and he springs into motion, gliding between the parked cars in the lot and sprinting across the street, just missing an SUV that speeds past him, horn blaring. He can hear the man thundering behind him, cursing him and his mother. Adrenalin rushing through his veins, Jesse can't stop the slightly nervous laugh that bubbles out of his chest. He vaults over the stone partition on the other side of the street, disappearing into a backyard littered with some kid's toys. He jumps over a tricycle, a soccer ball and a Frisbee before he flips over the chain link fence into the next yard, hand touching the bar precisely between the woven triangles on top and hood falling down over his head with gravity's pull. He checks his pockets quickly for any loss of cash or glass before he slips into the bushes lining the house and quiets his breathing. He watches as el Caballero finally reaches the stone partition, hauling himself up just enough to look over into the yards.

"¡Te veo!" he calls into the wrong yard. "¡Corre, gatito!"

Jesse doesn't fall for the bluff, peering through the leaves of his hiding spot, patient and motionless as the other man scans the yards, breathing harshly into the night air.

The blond's view is restricted by his hood; all he can see in his narrow view is the hulking man watching for any movement in the dark, but Jesse knows their eyesight doesn't even compare and he's not worried. He just has to stay still and silent.

El Caballero gives up at last, letting loose a nonverbal yell of frustration before shoving off the wall and returning to the liquor store.

Jesse waits another moment, ears tracking any unusual noise in the night for signs of a trick. He eventually slips a hand under his hood and beanie to groom his mussed hair and fur, and wriggles out of his hiding spot. He hops onto the edge of the chain link fence he jumped earlier and walks that edge on tip-toe into the front yard, careful to move consciously to prevent the metal from shaking nosily.

When he reaches the opposite end, he drops down to the pavement and hustles up the block. No one's come out to check on the noise – odds are these homeowners are used to commotion living next to a liquor store, but Jesse doesn't want to risk it. He laughs quietly at his daring escape and for a second reflects on Mr White's comment; it _is_ surprising he's lived this long.

Jesse turns and follows the sidewalk further into residential, just to zig-zag a bit before he moves onto his next stop for the night.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse's been busting ass all night. He's eighteen large, nine ounces and five hours in. This was definitely easier back when he had a car. He's just wrapped up his last deal when the junkie suddenly runs back toward him.

"Run! Cops! Cops!" she screams, pushing past him into the alley.

Jesse swears between his teeth, and darts into the alley with her, but skids to a halt after the second time she glances back; she's looking at _him_ not toward the mouth of the alley. Jesse's hackles immediately rise. Growling, he breaks away from her and lunges to snag the drop ladder of a nearby fire escape. He tugs the metal down roughly and scrambles up the rungs. Rather than deal with all the steps that follow, he makes a split decision to grab the vertical bars caging the outside of the landing above him and pulls himself up while jumping. He successfully launches himself high enough to grab the next landing's side frame mid-leap and he repeats the maneuver a couple times, eventually winding up on the roof. He doesn't waste time to look for cops, despite his curiosity. He dashes across the roof and only panics a beat when he reaches the edge, thoughts of all that could go wrong spiraling through his head, but he's already made the decision to jump and he allows his muscles to take over, blanking his mind at the feel of air rushing past his face before he tumbles onto the next rooftop, limbs tucked tight as he rolls.

He scrambles to his feet and gauges the distance between this roof and the next, finding it too much a risk. He swears again and sidles up to the edge to finally glance down; there aren't any cops that he can see but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He finds the fire escape easily enough, metal glinting in the moonlight, and slides down it in a reverse move of his earlier ascent. It's loud but less than tripping down all the steps would have been. When his feet hit pavement again, he checks warily around the corner of the alley. It's clear. Nothing strikes him as odd and though his heart is in his throat, he makes the call to duck back into the sparse crowd out tonight.

"Lying bitch," he mutters when he finds that there's absolutely _no_ cops _anywhere_. He sighs in relief – probably saved himself a knifing by getting away from her, though. She seemed sketchy as all fuck.

Just as he finishes that thought, a uniformed officer steps out of the Blake's across the street. Jesse stops so suddenly that the couple behind him slam into him.

"_Shit,_ uhm, I mean sorry," he side-steps them and retreats the way he came, glancing over his shoulder past the disgruntled couple to watch the cop's progression. The cop makes his way down the street to another cop exiting an unmarked car. By the time they meet up, a second car pulls up alongside them, this one marked.

"Hey, _apologize_, asshole!"

"Sorry," Jesse offers easily, dipping his head toward the couple slightly. He already apologized but he doesn't want to argue that fact, doesn't want to draw attention to himself, doesn't want those cops to take an interest.

A white Cadillac pulls into the parking space Jesse was just about to cut through. The blond nervously glances in to find a slightly older man at the wheel drinking from a fast food cup, oblivious to Jesse as he shifts the car into park. His appearance doesn't scream cop – he looks soft; he has laugh lines and he's wearing a suit that a cop wouldn't wear even while undercover.

The cops start conversing boisterously behind him and Jesse's heart rate kicks up again. The sudden urge to be _invisible _is overwhelming. He tries the sedan's door and finds it unlocked, quickly ducking in and landing in the seat in one fluid move.

"Whoa, hey, hey!" the man exclaims, dropping his drink in his surprise.

Jesse snatches the cup out of the air before it can make a mess of anything. "Be cool."

"I don't want any trouble," he chuckles nervously, lifting his hands timidly.

"Knock it off," Jesse thrusts the cup back at the man so he's forced to lower his hands to grasp it. "It's okay, you're okay. Just be cool, alright?"

The man smiles disarmingly, eyes a ridiculously warm shade of blue, and agrees, "Yeah, sure, whatever you want. I'm cool. We're cool."

The man's attention wavers between Jesse and the world outside the car, and he looks ready to bolt.

The blond panics. The pissed off couple would be nothing compared to a guy claiming a carjacking. The cops would have him cuffed in seconds. And once the DEA got a hold of him…

Jesse fishes out a bundle of cash and frees three bills. "Here, three hundred. A hundred for each minute. Please, _please_ just _be cool_."

The man eyes him silently, but at least he's not reaching for the door handle. "You're not with Bustamante, are you?"

"Who?"

He plucks the money from Jesse's hand and settles again in his seat. "So are you in some trouble, or what?"

Jesse sighs in relief, slouching in his own seat. "Yeah, something like that." He stares into the side mirror, gradually relaxing when the cops slowly begin to disperse. They aren't chasing after him, nor has he drawn any attention to himself. Even the angry couple has disappeared down the street.

"Well…" the other man breaks the silence, startling Jesse. "I might be able to help with that. I'm Saul. Goodman. What's your name?"


	5. Chapter 5

Jesse blinks at the man. There's a long beat of silence and Saul quirks an eyebrow.

"This is the part where you offer your name back, kid. We maybe shake hands; exchange a pleasantry of some sort. That's how greetings work."

"I, uhm, I was just gonna leave, man," Jesse gestures toward his door. "This isn't—I didn't pay you for, like, something _weird_."

Saul laughs outright, grinning broadly at him. "You're damn right it isn't something weird – well, only weird in that you jumped into the car of a complete stranger, but I mean there definitely won't be any exchange of bodily fluids or anything of that sort. I'm not the type to pay for that and you aren't either." Saul hesitates and inspects Jesse with a sharp once-over. "Well, I wouldn't know anything about your habits, I suppose, but I _assume_ you're not the type to make dumb decisions like _paying for it_, but again, the whole jumping-in-stranger's-cars thing kinda undermines the theory that you _abstain_ from dumb decisions."

Jesse blinks. "You…talk a lot, yo."

Saul flashes a charming smile. "Yeah, it's a gift."

Something about this guy is teasingly familiar, but Jesse can't place it. He blames the guy's cologne; it's woodsy like Badger's but not spicy enough to threaten a sneeze attack like Badger's does in big doses. It – in addition to the residual warmth from the car's heaters – makes for a safe, lulling space. The man's burger and fries still sit in the bag from Blake's on the dash and it's fragrant; appealing enough to his empty stomach that Jesse's tempted to dig through it for food. The possibility of a meal and time to rest in this place with this man's welcoming presence threatens to roll his breathing into purrs, which is all the more reason that Jesse leave before he embarrasses himself in that manner. He bites his lip to quell the urge, and the pain is grounding.

"Yeah, so, listen, thanks for the hiding spot…" Jesse gazes out the window again just to be sure it's safe to jump out, eyes alert for any uniforms or badges in disguise, which he can typically spot given their stupid, smug swaggers. He reaches for the door handle.

Saul stops him with a hearty clap on his shoulder. "Hey, kid—"

Jesse flinches, instinctively expecting another smack to the back of his head after ducking them all morning but the man's hand disappears from his cowering form immediately. Jesse's ears flick back to the other man's soft _oh…_ and he shakes himself out of his defensive position to find that Saul has shrunk back into his side of the car, clearly trying to appear small and non-threatening.

There's another long beat of silence, this one more awkward than the last. Saul's the first to break it again.

"Hey," he says gently, "I just want your name, kid."

"Jesse," the blond mutters to the dashboard, eyes fixed on the fast food bag, unable to look at Saul for all the shame he's choking on. His face feels hot but he can't will the embarrassment away.

"No last name?" At Jesse's silence, Saul continues unperturbed. "Alright, no surname. That's fine. Lots of people go by only one name. Important people, like Plato. Or Aristotle."

Was this guy serious? Jesse knows he must be giving him an incredulous look, because Saul smiles at him again, but this one is decidedly softer.

"Not a fan of philosophy or rhetoric? You strike me as a real thinker, though. How about Mr Spock? Technically a mononym."

_That_ disrupts the surreal moment. Is this guy a user of the blue, or genuinely this strange? The blond groans and thumps his head against the headrest. "You're a nerd, too? I must be a magnet for them," he mutters, all traces of humiliation replaced by mild amusement.

"Hey, them's fightin' words, kid. In fact, now that I consider you, you're more _Redshirt_ material than anything. You're just lucky I was here to save you. But my services don't end at just a quick place to hide. Depending on your situation, I may be able to _represent_ you, y'know, if you're facing _criminal_ charges. Which I assume you are, with the way you were dodging those police officers."

The emphasis placed on those words spark something in Jesse's memory – tinny, patriotic music and a soothing voice that serves as a familiar companion during profound, lonely highs at 03:00. "You're Saul Goodman! The DA from those cheesy commercials!" He points enthusiastically at Saul, finally able to place him.

Saul frowns. "_Cheesy_? You wound me, Redshirt. I'll have you know those adverts do their job."

Jesse smirks. "Yeah, I'll bet they do. Those three a.m. calls—" Jesse's stomach interrupts by growling loudly and he finishes lamely, "—must be real interesting." He clears his throat in embarrassment. He reaches for the door again but Saul catches him short by reaching out to him, not touching but enough to halt him.

The older man extends his other arm and snatches the bag off the dash. He produces two Itsa burgers and offers one to Jesse. "Here. I know you can likely afford your own," the DA glances pointedly to the side pocket of Jesse's cargos where the only bundle of cash Saul knows about rests, "but you still look like you've skipped a few meals."

Jesse tilts his head curiously, ears alert to any change in the man's breathing and eyes darting between Saul and the food held out to him for any hint of a trick. He hasn't done anything to earn it, and this man doesn't even know him. Even among his friends or buyers, there was always a catch – save for Badger. It could be that this guy's simply trying to ensure Jesse's business as one of his clients, but Jesse doubts this man would be able to help him with the kind of mess in which he's currently involved.

In the face of Jesse's hesitation, Saul is patient – food unwaveringly held out to the blond for a small stretch of time until Jesse takes it from him uncertainly. "You don't mind green chile, do you? I always get it on my burgers."

Jesse shakes his head, he doesn't mind it but it's not his favorite. Still, he eagerly unwraps the burger. "Thanks," he murmurs quickly before he starts eating.

"No worries, kid." Saul unwraps and begins eating his own at a far more sedate pace.

Jesse's attention is divided between the spicy food and the DA next to him. He can feel the man's eyes on the side of his face and it makes his senses prickle uncomfortably. He glances at him questioningly, burger held close to his chest.

Saul gives a somewhat somber half-smile. "Easy, there, kid; I'm not going to take it away."

Jesse nods and drops his gaze, slowing down but not by much. He looks over curiously when Saul digs through the bag again, paper crinkling. He doesn't hesitate this time when Saul offers the pack of fries.

"I don't have another drink, so the next step's up to you. We can swing around the drive-thru again to get one for you and move this conversation to my office, or you're of course free to go on your way. Though, if you decide the latter, I insist on your taking a business card." Saul flashes one of his cards in front of Jesse's face and the blond eyes it between bites of fries.

Jesse weighs his options. There's two ways to break this down: he's either getting a free meal and a consult after paying to duck the cops, or he's just spent three-hundred bucks on a burger and a few minutes rest. He wonders if Saul assumes he has mad stacks at home, given the easy way in which he relinquished three bills. While somewhat true, Jesse's money still isn't something he'd easily part with and he's not currently in quite _enough_ trouble to warrant a DA's help. Neither the cops nor the DEA have caught up with him just yet, and he doesn't need defense against anyone pressing charges for any reason. But with the clientele this guys surely sees, maybe Jesse can wheedle some advice outta him without giving too much of his situation away. He doesn't have much else to do for the night, and the long, _long_ walk back to the lot where the Crystal Ship is parked seems daunting now that he's warm and fed.

Jesse finally looks back to the other man properly, realizing that he must have been silent for a while, but Saul is still holding up his card in a relaxed gesture.

"See? What'd I say? You're a real thinker, kid; I hope you've come to the right decision."

Jesse grins. "Chocolate shake?" he asks hopefully.

Saul smiles back and returns his business card to his breast pocket. He starts the car and replies, "You got it. Buckle up."

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Saul grumbles at the keys, struggling to get his building door open in the dark. He's hunched over to get a closer look at the lock, inadvertently blocking the light from the streetlamps in the lot with his body. While he evidently can't see the lock very well, Jesse can see it just fine.

The blond watches him sleepily, drinking from his shake sluggishly. He yawns, muffling his mouth with his hoodie sleeve so that Saul doesn't hear the embarrassing mew. He'd dozed on the ride here, rocked by the vehicle and warmed by the food in his belly and the heater vents. Either Saul hadn't noticed him sleeping, or had and hadn't commented. Jesse figures it was the latter, however, because the ride had been quiet and the blond doubts Saul is a naturally silent driver.

Jesse lazily listens for any suspicious movement in the surrounding buildings or the stretch of lot behind him. He's starting to feel paranoid the longer they're out here and isn't quite sure why. It could be because he's never been near this side of town at night, which consequently makes it seem unfamiliar. It could also be that, despite him being here with the owner under legal circumstances, it still feels shifty at this hour. Jesse gracefully slips his hand between Saul's face and the door, knocking the key into place. It catches the lock and the man finally gets the door open.

"Hey, thanks, kid." Saul flashes him a smile. "We would have been here all night. I hate this stupid lock. I keep trying to get Francesca—" here, Jesse looks to Saul for explanation of this newly introduced name but Saul continues like Jesse should know everyone the man knows: "—to replace it but she says it's not defective, just that I need to learn patience." He opens the door and leads Jesse inside, foregoing the lobby light and instead catching a switch that illuminates a hallway framed by two doors on each side.

Door number one has another lock and Saul flips to a different key on his key ring before he makes quick work of unlocking it. Jesse glances down the hallway to find door two unmarked; it sits on the same wall as the door Saul's just opened. Door three, across from door two, is marked as a unisex restroom. Door four, same wall as three, is also unmarked and set the furthest back. Jesse's curious but knows he isn't here for a tour.

Tailing after Saul, Jesse takes a moment to blink in the small room. The colors are bright and it seems both open and cluttered with the big desk and books, files and papers scattered haphazardly everywhere. The carpet is _blue_. The wall decorations – faux support columns and Constitution decals – line up perfectly with what Jesse remembers from the commercials. He snorts and grins at the tight look Saul throws at him. "What?" Jesse smirks, chuckling again before he takes another drink from his shake.

"Careful, Redshirt," he mock-threatens through a smile before moving a stack of books off one of the client chairs, setting them on the desk carelessly before he stands by his own seat behind the desk. He gestures to the newly-cleared space and Jesse obediently has a seat.

Once Saul sits across from him, desk a mountain between them, Jesse unexpectedly feels like he's being brought in by a boss to be terminated, or to get a lecture from a principle. From this seat, the room takes on a different feel; the design no longer feels clumsy as Saul definitely has power in that chair, framed by those columns. Jesse's stomach twists uncomfortably and he's prepared to be chastised for some wrongdoing. The feeling only intensifies at the sight of Saul's sudden frown.

Saul stands, bracketing the stack of books with his outstretched arms as he leans on the desk. "C'mon, kid, you gotta stop looking at me like I'm going to cancel Christmas."

Jesse glares at him and tries, unsuccessfully, to shake the anxious feeling he has creeping along his spine.

Saul rounds the desk again, passing Jesse to start transferring _more_ books, this time from the sofa in the corner to the floor. The sofa is a strange orange sectional, patterned like wallpaper and broken into an 'L,' which Saul makes quick work of clearing. He pats the larger section in the universal action of offering a seat before he takes the smaller section.

Jesse stands, cradling his half-empty cup to his chest. He settles on the cushion and is surprised to find that it's, well, _cushiony_. The blond wonders at it all for a moment, because wouldn't a DA want to keep their office strictly professional in lack of clutter and furnished with sharp, uncomfortable seats with the intent to keep clients entertained for the minimal amount of time? The office almost reflects a messy bedroom rather than a place of business. He doesn't get long to think before Saul catches his attention again with a quiet, pleased noise.

"That's better; those scared deer eyes you had going there for a while are gone." He smiles at Jesse and the blond finds himself relaxing into the padded sofa under that warm expression.

From anyone else, that remark would have Jesse bristling, but from Saul it's not that bad. The underlining concern is evident in Saul's tenor and it reminds Jesse of the way Aunt Ginny would talk to him when he was feeling nervous. It's comforting and far from insulting.

"Alright, kid, tell me about yourself."

Jesse's mind blanks, and he quirks an eyebrow in a silent request for clarification. What did this man want to know? There really wasn't that much to him – just a stupid junkie in a fucked up situation. Though, he'd been drug-free for a few weeks, having gotten over the worst of the withdrawal symptoms and now only struggling with sleep and hunger issues. And the steady cravings to smoke meth, of course. There'd always be those; that insistent voice in the back of his head that urged him to pocket some of their product, just a little, for one hit... But he'd been through this before, and he really wasn't _that_ addicted, really. He could handle it. So, an _ex_-junkie, in a stupid partnership with a dying man.

"You're doing it again," Saul says softly, and Jesse blinks back into his surroundings to watch Saul's eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. "That thinking face. Care to share with the class?"

Jesse huffs an annoyed breath out his nose and looks away. "What do you wanna know?"

"Well, a summary of what led you to my car tonight might be a good start. You were obviously avoiding those policemen – why?"

The blond chews on his straw for a moment.

Saul nudges the conversation forward at his hesitation. "Is it drug-related?" he suggests. "Are you a dealer? You don't seem to have any shortage of cash, and I find that's typically the case in those situations."

Jesse isn't sure how to play this. With Mr White, there was definitely a wrong and right answer to everything. But with Saul, all of the questions are open-ended. If he says too much, or uses the wrong words, the worst he gets with Mr White is a thwack against his head. He doesn't know Saul well enough – read: _at all_ – to determine what the repercussions for fucking up will be. How much sway does Saul have with cops or the courts, anyway? What if he _is_ a cop, despite the first impression Jesse had gotten. An undercover cop, waiting for someone dumb enough to follow him into his bugged, mock-office to confess to all his crimes. Following him here was a stupid, stupid decision.

"Jesse."

It's the first he's heard his name from this man's mouth and it's like a blade cutting through the spiraling panic. He sobers and looks up to Saul.

"We're just talking here, Jesse. I'm only trying to get a feel for this case – if there is one. I'll admit that the clients I typically see are rarely one-hundred percent innocent. Hell, _twenty_ percent innocent would be generous. But more often than not, our interactions are beneficial beyond a single paycheck and drop of the gavel."

A partnership? Is that what he was suggesting? Jesse tilts his head and asks, "Hypothetically then, say I'm a dealer. What would you be able to offer?"

"Depends who you're running with," Saul says a bit guardedly. "You're _not_ with Bustamante, correct?"

That name again. The way Saul's muscles tense whenever he utters it has Jesse's attention and he can't help pushing for info. "No. Is he someone big?"

"You can say that. A very influential seller recently fell at the hand of a local cop and Bustamante is stepping up in his place. I think he may even be a cousin of the late Tuco."

Jesse's blood runs cold. The cousins. "Tuco," he whispers, curling back into the sofa. He remembers watching Mr White's stupid brother-in-law stand his ground while he hid out of sight, flinching at gunfire with dirt in his mouth. Could they know about him? They knew they were picking up Tuco and Heisenberg, but Jesse had had a grave waiting for him. Mr White had talked him up to a seat in the trunk but that was just between the three of them. The cousins couldn't know he existed, could they?

"Yeah, Tuco. So you've heard of him." Saul's voice sounds far away, down the other far side of a tunnel where the world is safe and sane. Far from Jesse. "He was a real nightmare of a guy. If you're involved with any of that, I'm afraid I'll have to bow out. I'm definitely not interested. No amount of cash could sway me."

Jesse frowns, and plays with the lid on his cup, depressing all the bubble markers on top, struggling with the impulse to be _honest_ with Saul. The man's been nothing but understanding and generous, even if it's in hopes of using Jesse to gain money, and Jesse finds he can't lie to him. "I know –_ knew_ – Tuco. I was there, when he was killed."

Saul's silence is absolute.


	6. Chapter 6

The moment stretches, both men staring at each other in silence, one shocked and the other vulnerable in light of his admission.

At Saul's sudden bark of laugher, Jesse startles and blinks rapidly.

"Good one, kid. You almost had me for a second there. You've got a pretty good poker face," Saul says between intermittent chuckles.

Jesse growls. "Yo, I'm _serious_. I was _there._ That asshole was gonna kill me. Mr—" he coughs harshly, choking on his words; to involve Mr White in this confession would be Jesse's signature on his own death certificate. But the urge to still be honest to Saul's open face forces him to offer partial truths. "_We _didn't," he amends, "think there was any way out, couldn't buy ourselves anymore time. My, uhm, friend and I were gonna straight up be murdered at that fucker's house, when _Schrödinger _showed up and saved the day."

"Schrader," Saul corrects on a weighted whisper, eyes fixed studiously on Jesse.

"_Hank_," Jesse bites back. "Whatever. He showed up. Don't even know how he knew to be there. We...we were hiding, Tuco was too distracted by that DEA bastard to remember to gun us down, and Hank didn't even know we were there. Got away. Had to leave my car behind." Jesse shakes his head. His ride had been shot to shit, but it had still been his for a long time. He felt the loss now more than he initially had that day, if only because walking everywhere had definitely lost its novelty.

"Who else was there," Saul questions gruffly, drawing Jesse's attention back to him.

"What?" Jesse can feel the fur on his ears bristling uncomfortably against his beanie; distress a hot band across the nape of his neck. He hopes Saul isn't looking for a name. He'd bail from this building before giving up Mr White; if only to save his own ass.

"Either you were there, or you read the paper, kid. I'm not sold either way just yet. But the paper didn't report everything, so who else was there?"

Jesse frowns. If the reports made any mention of Mr White, the man would have been investigated by now. So Saul likely doesn't know anything about him, though Jesse hazards that Saul has enough connections to pull direct police reports if he wanted them. Honesty, compelled or not, was still a good route. "Me n' my partner, n' Tuco n' his uncle. Just us four until Hank dropped in. You want info on his uncle?" Jesse deflects, "The guy doesn't talk. Dunno if he _can't_ or _won't_ but he communicates through this little bell." Jesse mimics the action, the echoing chime of the bell still fresh in his memory. "It was annoying as fuck. Wanna know what my last meal was gonna be? It sure as shit wasn't lobster. Though, for real, lobster is gross." Jesse pulls a face and shakes his head, ears slanted back in disgust under his beanie. Saul's answering smile reassures Jesse the man's still listening and amused enough to let the ambiguity of Mr White pass. He pushes on, grumbling, "We had burritos. Which shouldn't surprise anyone, but damn, if I had a choice, my last meal would be something _good_, y'know?"

"Alright, so you were there." Saul sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. "Tuco took you to his house to, what, feed you then kill you? Is that how your friends often display hospitality?"

"He wasn't no _friend_. That bitch _kidnapped_ me. He had some plan to ride off into the sunset and I was dragged along," Jesse growls, "unwillingly," he tags on, as if it needs to be said.

"Well, Tuco was bad news—"

Jesse interrupts with a rude noise and mutters, "No shit."

"—and his cousin is just as bad," Saul continues, watching Jesse sternly. "I presume you're still involved in that. I'm afraid I can't be of any service, kid." Saul stands and straightens his suit.

"No, wait," Jesse cries out, ears snapping back at the level of his own voice. He winces. "I'm not. Well, I mean, I _am_ but not like that, not with them. I swear."

Saul stares down at him, as Jesse has refused to stand up himself; afraid that if he were to do so, it would just be indication that he wants to leave – which he doesn't. The DA tilts his head minutely and Jesse takes it as permission to continue.

The blond scratches at an ear absentmindedly and sets his empty cup on the floor. "I'm not like _him. _I could never be. I've got a profitable partnership, a couple of my friends are involved. I've sold to Tuco, yeah, but never worked with him. Didn't run with him. It's never been…" Jesse frowns and looks down to the stupid blue carpet. "I saw that bastard _beat someone to death_. With just his fists!" Jesse looks back up to Saul earnestly. He blinks his eyes in frustration, because he can feel that they're wet and the last thing he wants to do is appear weak in front of Saul. "He put me in the hospital the same way – beat the shit out of me until I was choking on my own blood." Jesse shivers at the memory, ears pinned flat beneath his beanie as an unpleasant rush of fear spiders up his spine. He hangs his head and wrings his hands a few times, elbows resting on his knees. "Look," he sighs. "I dunno why I'm even here. I just… You… You're _different_ somehow…"

At his severely inadequate description of the man, Jesse can feel his brow crease. He doesn't know how to explain all of it. He feels safe with him, likes the sound of his laugh – though, at this point all the laughter he's earned from this man has been unintentional. He also desperately wants to be respected and admired by Saul, more so than he does by Mr White, which is odd because he's just met the man and he doesn't make it a habit to give a shit what people think of him.

Sighing, Jesse scoops up his cup and stands in one fluid motion. He looks to Saul and smiles wryly. "I'll just...go. It's, uhm, probably better, right? I mean, you're _different_. A good different. But…you shouldn't…get involved." Jesse's eyes flick away from the silent DA. The best Jesse can do in return for Saul's kindness is to keep him out of the twisted reality his life's become. It would be selfish to drag someone else into this as there doesn't seem to be an end in sight – at least not a good one – and Jesse's too stupid, scared, or passive to change it for the better. He may very well be all three at this point, but that requires a level of introspection he's just too tired to attempt tonight. "Thanks," Jesse murmurs. "For the food," he clarifies with a quick grin before he slips past Saul, unhindered and unacknowledged save for a heavy sigh by the DA.

Jesse takes a moment to bin his cup in the lobby before stepping outside again. The evening air is cool and still. He listens meditatively for a few breaths to orient himself with the night: the steady hum of the lot lamps, the sound of frenzied insects and the lone barking of an agitated dog a few blocks over.

He drags a hand down his face tiredly. He briefly considers calling Badger, but doesn't want to be a bother. The guy's got work tomorrow and doesn't need to be driving across town to pick his sorry ass up. The walk to the Crystal Ship is gonna be a real bitch, but standing around isn't going to get it over any faster, so he turns and quickly makes his way down the block. If he can get back to the liquor store while the night is young, he might be able to hitch a ride from one of his usual customers.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Fucking figures the one night he needs everybody to stick to routine, they've all left their usual haunt early. The liquor store is a damn near ghost town – the only person present is the unengaged cashier staring at him dully from behind the counter. Jesse huffs a breath and leaves, door chiming musically as he steps back out onto the empty lot.

Gnawing on his lip, Jesse cranes his head and stares at the stars speckling the sky, resigned to his fate but unable to find motivation to continue. The only positive outcome he can hope for is the soundless sleep he'll get from all the stupid exercise – the nightmares might leave him alone long enough to sleep the night through.

Spinning on his heel, Jesse trudges down the street. The sharp bite of a menthol makes his nose wrinkle just before he catches the sound of a shoe scuffing gravel. He snaps his attention to the alleyway he's crossing and ducks the hand that shoots out for him. He sways away from another grab and stumbles, leaving himself open to a sharp right cross that catches him in the jaw.

"_Fuck,_" Jesse's hand darts up to his mouth where pain blooms on the left side. The coppery tang of blood from the cut his teeth have made causes him to grimace. He's grabbed roughly by the back of his neck in his moment of shock and dragged into the alley. That damned rush of helplessness overwhelms him at the feel of an aggressive palm gripping his nape and he carefully looks up at his attacker to find el Caballero grinning at him wolfishly.

"What the fuck, asshole?"

The man glowers, switching his hold to grab the front of Jesse's hoodie to slam him into the wall he's got him crowded against. Jesse's head whips back at the unexpected move and fire bursts across his skull when it makes contact with the brick. He loses his breath when he's slammed against the wall again but manages to curl into the hold he's trapped in to avoid hitting his head a second time. The world tilts and spins when he opens his eyes so he shuts them, focusing instead on catching his breath and trying desperately not to vomit on the angry bastard before him.

"Shh, gatito," he coos. "Hay que ser agradable; voy a hacer que sea bueno para ti."

Jesse's Spanish is shit, but he still knows enough for the words to send a chill down his spine. The way el Caballero looms over him, pressing an unmistakable bulge into his hip, is enough to force the pain to the back of his mind. He tugs and twists out of el Caballero's hold, slamming the heel of his palm into the man's throat when he has enough room to maneuver.

The man staggers back, choking and gagging. Jesse swings his leg up to kick him in the dick but aims too high, catching him in the gut instead. El Caballero doubles over and catches Jesse's leg firmly before he can draw it back.

Jesse's yanked to the ground as his captor drops to his knees. He twists again in an effort to break free but his aggressor pounces on him, two swift blows to the head rendering the blond dazed and weak.

"Behave, gatito," el Caballero wheezes through his abused throat, stroking a hand down Jesse's battered cheek in a mockery of affection before it drops to squeeze his throat shut.

Jesse bucks against the oppressive weight, clawing at the hand that's steadily depriving him of air. At the feel of the button and zipper of his jeans being undone, Jesse freezes, ears snapping back against his battered skull in horror.

This can't be happening. It can't be real.

His pants are tugged down, impeded by the awkward position he's in, trapped between the bastard above him and the concrete below.

Growling in frustration, el Caballero lets up enough to try to fix the problem. In doing so, he releases Jesse's throat. The grey ringing the blond's eyesight fades as he drags in ragged breaths. El Caballero sits back just far enough to reach Jesse's jeans, but he's too distracted by his task to see the blond gathering fist in palm to swing like a batter, sideswiping him in the face.

The impact is solidly aligned with el Caballero's temple and eye. Jesse's had his optic bone broken before and knows the pain it causes, the way it overrides everything, so at the other's howl of pain, Jesse takes the moment of distraction to buck again, dislodging him. He crawls free and sprints out into the open, hardly taking time to do more than clutch at the hem of his jeans to keep them up as he runs.

He stumbles out into the street, gasping air that feels like broken glass in his throat, glancing frantically over his shoulder in fear that el Caballero will be right behind him. He fumbles with his pocket for his phone, the thought _call Badger_ repeating incessantly in his mind, work days be damned. His fingers touch the plastic of his phone at the precise moment highbeams and screeching tires make his heart jolt against his ribs. He throws himself out onto the sidewalk to avoid getting hit, mind blessedly blank for a surreal second. He shakes on the cold concrete, begging the universe for a break behind grit teeth and closed eyes.

"Jesse?"

The blond startles at the sound of his name. He dizzily looks up to the car that nearly struck him down to find Saul scrambling out of the driver's side of his white Cadillac.

"Shit, did I hit you? Are you alright?"

Jesse flinches when Saul reaches for him, a small whimper escaping him before he can bite it back.

Saul hesitates, cursing under his breath. He reaches out again, slowly. His voice is soft and coaxing, "C'mon, Jesse. Let's get in the car. Can you move? Damn it, did I hit you, Jesse?"

Shaking his head in the negative makes Jesse want to throw up. He reaches for his head and Saul's gasp makes his ears shoot up to catch the sound.

"You're _bleeding_." Saul's hand is warm when it cups his chin to lift his head gently. "What happened to you?"

"N-nothing," Jesse lies.

Saul brushes his thumb lightly across Jesse's cheek, which is hot and likely swelling if not already colored with bruise. The touch is enough to lessen Jesse's shivers by a fraction and he presses into the hand, eyes slipping shut for a breath. The moment is broken when Saul tries to remove his beanie. Jesse wrenches away, hands darting up to ensure the hat is still where it's meant to be.

"Jesse," Saul frowns. "How bad is it? Let me see."

"No," Jesse chokes out. The other man doesn't realize they're worried about completely different things. Jesse couldn't give a fuck about a scratch on his head – those types of wounds always bleed a lot. There's no way in hell he's letting Saul see his ears.

They stare at each other stubbornly, lips pressed thin and jaws clenched. Jesse refuses to drop his hands and Saul finally sighs in resignation.

"Fine," he frowns. "C'mon." He lifts Jesse by the armpits – an easy hold, as Jesse still hasn't dropped his hands – and helps him to his feet.

The world sways drunkenly for a moment and Jesse clings to Saul, letting go of his beanie in the process. Saul's eyes flick up to it in temptation but he doesn't reach for it again, instead bodily leading Jesse to the passenger side.

At their third shuffled step, Jesse's pants slip down to his thighs to reveal his boxers. A distressed noise escapes his throat and he fumbles to grab them, feeling Saul tense beside him. Jesse's hands are dumb and ineffectual and Saul eventually reaches down to help him, though his hands are noticeably trembling as he tugs the zipper up and fastens the button.

Saul wrenches the door to the car open and grumbles, "Get in."

"W-what? Where are we going?"

"The hospital." Saul says it with such finality that it takes a moment for Jesse to realize it's not the only option.

"No, no hospitals." The last time he'd been in one hadn't been pleasant. Granted, he hadn't been conscious for most of it, but the lights, smells, and staff were enough to put him off the experience. Not to mention the huge fucking bill. He hasn't had health insurance since his folks dropped him but back then, he'd been able to pay it off easily enough. Now, however, he didn't have any spare cash to lose unless he wanted to kiss his car plan goodnight.

"Yes, hospital," Saul returns smoothly. "You're bleeding, kid. And something…something's obviously happened." His hold tightens slightly when Jesse tries to wriggle free. "If you won't let me look you over, then someone else is going to – you're not wandering around out here with a head injury, or…other injuries."

Jesse reaches for his pocket again, pulling out his phone. "I'll call someone, yeah? They'll help. No hospitals. Just, just go. Why are you even here?"

"I was on my way home, kid, like I was the first time I ran into you." Saul glares. "I leave you alone for thirty minutes…" he grumbles under his breath. Louder, he says, "I'm not letting you go again."

That statement makes a flame of pleasure lick across his ribs unexpectedly. He knows Saul doesn't mean it the way it sounds, knows he's not Saul's responsibility, but the thought that he might be wanted makes something in him _want._ He opens his mouth but is interrupted by a cruel yell of, "¡_Gatito_!" from behind them.

Jesse's shivering returns with a vengeance. He swallows audibly and finally tugs free of Saul's hold to turn and stare as el Caballero stalks up to him.

Jesse feels a brief flare of pride at the sight of el Caballero's eye, flooded red with damaged blood vessels and already ringed in dark black. The feeling fades quickly when el Caballero reaches backward and tugs a gun free from the waistband of his pants.

"¿Es por esto que te fuiste?" he barks, jutting his chin out to indicate Saul, gun trained on the DA. "No comparto mis juguetes."

"No!" Jesse cries, yanking a tense Saul back behind him, pressed right up to the car as close as they are. He stands between the kind man and the gun, arms lifted defensively before himself, elbow knocking into the open door. The thought of Saul dying over Jesse's fuck up is unbearable and currently a very, very real possibility. He racks his brain for a solution, the street lights and traffic fading away. All of his focus narrows down to Saul's stilted breaths behind him and the unwavering gun before him. His head throbs but he doesn't dare close his eyes. He can't threaten violence; el Caballero would just carry out his threat. He really only has one bargaining chip, but his stomach roils at the thought of offering what el Caballero will respond to. "No," he repeats with more bravery than he feels. He grumbles in what he's sure is shit Spanish, "No hagas daño. Haces daño, nunca me toca de nuevo. _Nunca_."

El Caballero's gaze is sharp over Jesse's shoulder, surely locked on Saul's face. Jesse shifts to stand directly where el Caballero is looking, spreading his arms further to make himself a bigger target. Eventually, el Caballero's eyes flick to Jesse.

Jesse stares up at him earnestly, every cell in his body _urging_ for a positive outcome in this. He just wants to go home.

Gradually, el Caballero's arm lowers. His gaze softens slightly, eyes no longer narrowed. The red glare of his injured eye holds Jesse's attention when he grumbles, "Vete, gatito. Te veo luego."

"Get in the car," Jesse growls over his shoulder, eyes locked on el Caballero, ready to lunge for the gun should the bastard lift it again. He knows the odds of him grabbing it before it's fired are slim, but the closer he is to the barrel, the less chance Saul has of being hit. He feels Saul wriggle out from behind him, dashing around the trunk, driver door opening and slamming shut before the engine roars to life.

There's a harsh tug on the back of his hoodie, Saul stretching across the seat to reach for him. "_Jesse_," he hisses.

Jesse ducks his head, and drops into the seat. The Cadillac is peeling away before he even fully has the door shut.


	7. Chapter 7

"_Jesus Christ_," Saul mutters emphatically after they've covered a solid stretch of silent street. He takes another turn, winding further into town, putting more distance between them and the threat.

Jesse remains silent, listlessly staring out the windshield. He can feel and smell the bitter sweat he's covered in, a thicker trail traversing the length of his neck past his beanie, which he's almost positive is the layer of blood he can smell but is hesitant to check. He can feel it making the collar of his shirt stiff, imagines it's ruining the hoodie he's borrowed and he feels a stab of guilt. Every bob of his adam's apple makes his throat protest painfully; a sore ring around the front he has no doubt will bruise. He's still shivering, no matter how hard he wills his body to knock that shit off. His eyes slant to his left warily when Saul abruptly reaches over to direct the vents toward him. The older man drops his hand to the temperature dial and cranks it up, warm air blanketing Jesse immediately.

"Thanks," Jesse mumbles quietly.

Saul grunts in acknowledgement, features pinched in what Jesse thinks might be anger, so he quickly falls silent to avoid making it worse. He catches movement out of his peripheral when Saul digs into his jacket pocket for his phone, holding a button down for a second before lifting it to his ear.

"Drew. Sorry for calling so late. Listen, if you're not terribly busy, I need a favor. Hah, no. I've got a friend with me who could benefit from the use of your expertise and first aid kit. Yeah. Well, sorta. Alright. Be there in five." Saul pockets the phone, glancing to Jesse before returning his attention to the road. He makes another turn. "No hospitals, fine. I'm still taking you to see a GP. Andrew's a good guy; we've helped each other out of a few messes. Assuming your injuries aren't, well, _extensive_, we'll just pay him for his time and supplies and be on our way, alright?"

Jesse fidgets in his seat and clears his throat, wincing at the sharp pain. "I wasn't… El Caballero didn't… I mean, he _tried_, but I wasn't…_raped_," Jesse chokes on the last word. He tugs at the cuffs of his hoodie uncomfortably, pulling one sleeve over his battered knuckles. The soft sound of Saul's relieved sigh makes him relax as well. He continues a little more confidently, "I busted up his face and ran. Dunno what woulda happened if you hadn't shown up, so… Thanks."

"No thanks necessary, kid," Saul returns softly.

The next moment they're pulling into the driveway of a two story house with a grand arch over the warmly lit front stoop and doorway. Neatly trimmed hedges line the yard in lieu of a fence and a netted cherry tree stands just beside the curved walkway. The house itself is a grey stucco, accented with light blue window frames, gutters, garage and door.

Saul cuts the engine and quickly steps out. By the time his door is swinging shut, he's already on his way to Jesse's side of the car. He opens the door and makes to reach for the blond but Jesse lightly knocks his hand away, afraid that if Saul were to touch him, Jesse would give in to the urge to burrow against him and they both don't need the awkwardness.

"I'm alright. Told ya, he didn't get me." His eyes have stopped twisting the world, and his dizziness is almost completely gone. He still stands slowly, waiting for the muted vertigo to pass while Saul closes the door. They slowly make their way to the archway of the house, Saul's arm hovering as if to guide or catch Jesse.

As they pass the tree, Jesse nicks a ripe cherry with a quick swipe of his hand in between the weave of the net, tossing it into his mouth when Saul looks up to the front door that's noisily being unlocked.

When Saul looks back to Jesse, he grins fondly when he catches the blond chewing happily.

"What?"

"Nothing." His smile softens and he whispers conspiringly, "Don't let Drew catch you doing that."

Jesse spits out the pit and stem a second before the door swings open. The sweet taste on his tongue quickly turns sour when a broad, muscled man looms in the open doorway. The current useful light sources are the blub in the recess above the stoop and the light framing the man from within the house, and while Jesse's first glance clearly informs him it _isn't_ el Caballero, that doesn't stop his cat brain from making the connection in stance and structure. His ears snap back, fear plunging him into a frozen lake that arrests his breathing and chills his bones. He crouches slightly, almost turned to run when Saul catches him by the upper arm gently.

"Jesse. Jesse, it's alright. Hey, look at me, kid."

The blond is unable to shift his gaze; unable to let the threat disappear from view. Saul steps in front of Jesse, successfully breaking his line of sight. He keeps one hand warmly wrapped around his arm and uses the other to cup Jesse's face to further angle it away from the man in the door. Jesse knows his breathing's wrong, can feel it hitching and stuttering out, puffing too harshly against Saul's chest, but he can't find a rhythm.

"You're okay, Jesse," Saul says soothingly. "I see the similarities too, but it's just Drew. Look at his hair – that lazy surfer's coif. And would you ever catch your monster wearing striped pants outside of a prison?"

Jesse peeks over Saul's shoulder, letting out a ghost of a laugh that catches in his throat. The man is dressed for bed, clearly unarmed, and hasn't moved from the stoop, giving them space.

"He's a good friend," Saul continues, boldly stroking a thumb across Jesse's cheek again, "and I'm going to be with you every step, alright? I really want him to check you over, Jesse. Please. We'll only be here for a bit, once he's patched you up, we'll leave any time you say."

Jesse nods his consent after a moment, and only realizes he's got Saul's suit jacket clutched in his fists when Saul moves to step away but can't. "S-sorry," Jesse flushes, releasing his grip. Before he can drop his hands completely, Saul catches one in his own, grasp firm and warm. Jesse doesn't know if Saul's got a hold of him to prevent him from running or if he's trying to be comforting, but it serves both purposes as they make their way up to Drew.

"Evening, gents," Drew greets casually, as though Jesse didn't just have a panic attack on his front lawn. He gestures them in, stepping aside to close the door behind them.

Now that he's closer, Jesse confirms his first assessment; this clearly isn't el Caballero. He can't believe he ever thought it, and his display earlier is now a stone of embarrassment in his gut.

Drew offers his hand in welcome with the traditional right, but that's the hand Saul's clasping. Without blinking, Drew lifts his other hand and he and Jesse shake leftie while Saul keeps hold of his right. It feels like he's caught in some Three Stooges routine. He grins slightly at Saul's laugh and Drew flashes an answering smile.

"I'm Andrew. Drew to you; it's what my friends call me."

"Jesse."

"Nice to meet you, Jesse. Saul says you need some looking over. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Got in a fight," Jesse mumbles, eyes darting to Saul in hopes the other man doesn't speak up.

Saul's expression is tight and Drew hums thoughtfully. "I can see you've got a bit of a bleed – let's get you to the bathroom, alright?"

Drew and Saul lead him to the bathroom, Saul's hand still tucked easily within his as the two men catch up casually. Jesse tunes them out as they walk the hall, passing a few rooms, some with doors closed, but the ones that are open are lit. They pass an office, and what appears to be a home gym. Jesse can't hear anyone else in the house and he gradually relaxes. There's a lingering scent of a dog, and a stray toy in the hall, but Jesse can't hear it scampering around and he looks for it curiously.

Drew catches him at it and smiles. "The Captain's outside – didn't know what kind of shape you'd be in and I didn't want him getting in the way. You can meet him later, if you want."

"The Captain?"

"Yeah, Captain Cardboard," Saul offers as Drew wets a hand towel under warm water in the sink before he settles himself on the wide ledge of the tub next to an open first aid kit. He motions to the toilet and Jesse finally breaks his hold with Saul to sit on the lid. "He's a corgi Drew found tucked into a cardboard box last spring, off I-25."

Drew carefully wipes at Jesse's face and neck with the warm cloth, tugging at Jesse's shirt collar and adjusting his hoodie to give himself room to work. "Thought it was a crate in the road; sometimes they fall off transport trucks, so I stopped to drag it to the shoulder so no one would hit it. It had been raining sporadically for a few weeks, and I figured if someone didn't see it in time, they'd be in for a nasty surprise." Drew tilts Jesse's head up toward the light for a moment, assessing the bruising on his cheek and glancing down to the angry mark around his neck. "Those crates are real rough on your car if you run 'em over. They'll mess up your alignment at the least, or if your car is real shoddy, they'll tear out your driveshaft." Drew lifts a penlight and tests it against his palm; Jesse watches the bright flash of light flick off and on with the press of Drew's thumb before he lifts it to test the contraction of his pupils and the fluidity of his eye movement. The light is excruciatingly bright. Jesse tamps down the urge to vomit while Drew makes quick work of checking his nostrils. "Turned out to be a large cardboard box with this scared, scrawny little dog inside. He didn't want me to touch him, curled up and shaking in the corner of that box, but he didn't bite me, either."

Jesse's too engaged in the story and busy blinking dots out of his eyes to realize Drew's removed his beanie and chucked it in the sink until the oppressing silence in the room registers. For a few beats, no one breathes. Jesse can feel Saul standing straight as a board in shock to his right, offering a single, audible swallow. The blond stares wide-eyed at Drew but without too much hesitation, Drew gracefully stands to check his ears; had they been human, Jesse's sure the man could have remained sitting. But as it is, the angle is wrong. Drew's touch is gentle as he manipulates the ears up from their anxious tilt to check the canal, rubbing lightly and checking the base for any bleeding before his hand eventually finds the knot on the back of his head – the true source of the bleed.

"The thought of anyone running him over without even knowing he was there made me nauseous," he continues. "So I scooped him up in my jacket and got him settled in my car. We made a pit-stop for a can of dog food from a fuel station." Drew lifts an antiseptic wipe and warns, "This might sting," before cleaning the knot and his neck, massaging his skull lightly. The touch is enough to have Jesse slowly dropping his tense shoulders.

"The Captain was so skinny that I was afraid the dog food was too little too late, but he ate it happily. I made another stop for more after that, figuring any I had left over would go to the shelter I'd drop him off at. But I didn't have time before my clinic meeting – it was the whole reason I was commuting down that interstate in the first place." Drew bins the wipe and washes his hands thoroughly. "The injury back here is going to need stitches. Face Saul for me, alright?"

Jesse spins on the toilet lid to face Saul. The man offers him a warm smile and Jesse feels himself relax just that bit more. Though everyone had been shocked at the reveal of his ears, at the very least, no one had commented, and Saul hadn't left.

"Saul, in the cabinet, there's a new razor."

Saul digs for a second and pulls the mentioned item out, handing it over to Drew.

"Cheers." He frees it from the packaging, stating, "I'm going to have to shave around the site, okay, Jesse? After this, all you'll have to worry about is keeping it clean and dry."

Drew tilts Jesse's head forward, murmuring, "I'll shave as little as possible. Keep still now."

Jesse breathes gently, conscious of every movement to try to stay as motionless as possible. Drew picks up the story again, "Once I got to the hospital, I didn't know what to do with the dog. I was already running late for my meeting, but I couldn't leave him in the car, and I was worried about letting him leave my sight anyway. So I took him with me. He never left my side, which is great because I didn't have a lead. I got a couple frowns, but service dogs are allowed in most facilities and I explained away his presence as a training exercise to begin work as a comfort companion." Drew makes quick work of the shaving, cleaning the razor several times before he's finished. Once done, he washes his hands once more. He snaps on a pair of gloves and opens a sterile needle and thread. He wipes the wound with a new wipe before he tilts Jesse's head forward again, but at the first touch of the needle, Jesse flinches and he immediately stops.

Saul's shoes step into Jesse's limited view of the tiles before the man kneels at his feet. Saul takes his hand in his again, its twin clasping his upper arm once more. "Alright?" he asks gently.

"Yeah," Jesse breathes. "Sorry."

"You're okay," Saul murmurs.

"No worries, Jesse," Drew says from behind him. "Try not to move; I'll stitch this up as fast as I can."

Jesse steels himself for the feel of the needle, grimacing at the odd tug of the thread drawing his skin closed. His ears are pinned back again, and Jesse catches Saul watching them with interest.

"After that, things were copacetic. He'd let me pet him without shaking and eventually learned that I didn't mean him any harm. He's real sweet, and I can't fathom what led him to be left in that box like he was. People can be monsters." Drew sighs heavily, but continues his narrative, "I never did get around to dropping him off at the shelter; guess I never truly had the intention to. He didn't have a name for a while because I'm not very good at that kind of stuff, so Saul named him after hearing his origin story."

Jesse grins at Saul and Saul mirrors it.

Drew continues, finally tying off and clipping the thread, "I can't imagine him not being here now, not when I can give him something better than what he came from and he gives me companionship and a reason to come home every night."

"Yeah, you were practically living at the clinic," Saul remarks with a grin. "The Captain's been good for you."

"No argument there," Drew chuckles as he applies cool antiseptic gel.

Jesse shivers at the unusual sensation and Saul squeezes his arm gently. He feels a pad of gauze being taped into place before Drew slips his gloves off.

"Alright. Keep that clean and dry; we'll remove the stitches in a couple of weeks. I'm gonna give you some pain killers and anti-inflammatory pills." Drew moves into Jesse's sight line and frowns. "Do you have any other injuries that need tending, Jesse?"

The question is weighted, but Jesse isn't lying when he says no.

"Okay," Drew nods. "The bruising around your neck and cheek will have to heal on their own. It won't be pleasant, but just take it easy. The swelling in your throat will make swallowing difficult for a bit, but you're breathing and talking, and there shouldn't be any lasting damage. I'll get you an ice pack. You've got a bit of a concussion, which is going to need monitoring. For the next twenty four hours, you'll need to be woken every two to three hours to determine your condition. Any slurred speech, confusing statements, or lack of reaction to stimuli are cause for alarm. I'd like you to stay here for a while, the night even, if you're both willing."

Jesse darts a look to Saul. The man gives him shrug in return, obviously leaving the decision up to Jesse, but the blond is tired of making choices for the night.

"I'll let you two discuss it. I'm going to let Captain in and grab those pills and an ice pack." Drew claps a hand on Saul's shoulder as he leaves, waving off Saul's thanks.

When Saul turns his attention back to Jesse, still kneeling before him, he smiles. "Well, it's up to you, kid. If you'd like to go home or a friend's house, that's fine, as long as you've got someone to check you every couple of hours."

Jesse breaks eye contact to look at his bloody beanie in the sink. There isn't anyone at the Crystal Ship to babysit him, and he doesn't want to burden Badger by showing up at his doorstep with medical instructions. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, eyes tracing the hole ripped in the back of his beanie, where he imagines the brick must have caught him enough to warrant the stitches.

"Or…" Saul shifts his weight, dropping a hand lightly on Jesse's shoulder. "Or we could stay here for a while. The night, if you'd like; Drew did offer. If you're uncomfortable here, there's always my place."

Just as Jesse turns his attention to Saul, there's the musical jangle of dog tags a second before a gold and white blur rushes into the bathroom. The dog darts around the large room for a few seconds, claws clicking on the tile and tongue lolling out in its excitement. Saul laughs at the sight and Jesse can't help joining in when the dog finally tackles the older man, yipping happily and snuffling against Saul's suit before licking a broad stripe up his face.

Saul makes a disgusted noise between laughs and pushes the dog off of him. The Captain turns to his next victim, standing on his short hind legs to place his forepaws on Jesse's knees. The dog pants up at him, tongue hanging out comically and entire rear end wagging. Jesse smiles, offering his hand tentatively for the dog to sniff. The Captain only gives it a moment's consideration before licking it and trying to heft himself up into Jesse's lap. The blond helps him up, laughing when the wriggling, warm ball of fur licks at his face.

"Maybe we can stay, for just a while?" He asks, transferring the happy dog to the tile again. A whistle from the other side of the house has the dog dashing out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"Sure, Jesse," Saul says with a fond smile. "Anything you want."


	8. Chapter 8

Jesse slowly floats to wakefulness, warm and blissful under the feel of someone gently running their fingers over his ears. Their presence is calming and their scent is familiar; Jesse isn't frightened, and if he's honest, it's soothing. The touch is light and inquisitive at first – nearly ticklish – until it becomes a bit bolder, parting the fur with blunt fingernails. He nuzzles the blanket wrapped around him, burying his nose in the scent of fresh detergent. The tender touches keep him drifting in that hazy place between waking and sleeping, especially when the hand moves to the base of his ears where they're more sensitive. It produces a soft, steady purr from his chest, past a distant ache in his throat.

A sharp intake of breath behind him has one ear swiveling lazily to catch the sound. The movement causes an unusual dull pain and pulling sensation at the back of his head. He furrows his brow and finally stirs toward consciousness.

"No. There's no _way_ you're that adorable, kid. You _purr_ too?"

Jesse blinks a few times, disoriented by the unfamiliar room: large bay window, currently obscured by drawn curtains; high ceiling with an arched doorway leading to a warmly lit room beyond; flat-screen television mounted against one wall with a collection of movies and games in a rack underneath. The entire room is cleaner than anything he can remember his friends living in. It almost doesn't look lived in at all. The only light in this room comes from the television, the sound is nearly muted and captions run along the bottom. He recognizes the film as Top Gun and watches the dogfight for a few seconds but he's dizzy enough without the addition of barrel rolls, so he eventually looks away. He tries to stretch but the blanket is tangled around him and his muscles are still too clumsy with sleep to fight his way out of it just yet. He cranes his head back to see Saul sitting next to him on the unfamiliar sofa he's sleeping on, eyes bright and fixed on Jesse. He knows Saul said something, but he couldn't decipher it through the veil of sleep. He yawns, mewing at the end and asks sleepily, "Hmm?"

"Damn it," Saul says on a huff of amused breath, turning away for a second so that Jesse only catches a glimpse of his fond smile and the sudden color to his cheeks in the cool light of the television.

He's warm and content, relaxing further when Saul's fingers card through his hair again before rubbing gently at the fur on his ears. The blond lets his eyes slip shut, pressing into the touch lightly. As far as dreams go, this one is strange but in no way unwelcome. It's a far leap away from the nightmares that routinely plague him.

"You know the drill, kid; give me one full sentence and you can go back to sleep," Saul murmurs.

"Drill?" Jesse questions muzzily.

From the doorway of the kitchen, Drew says quietly, "You've already passed the test once, Jesse. We're only checking up on you. Give us a sentence, yeah?"

Jesse blinks at Drew, hazy memories returning slowly. He's still a bit disoriented from his disrupted sleep, but Jesse slowly grasps hold of reality; this isn't a dream. Saul's hand passes over one of his ears again, chased by Saul's soft laugh when that ear twitches under the fleeting touch. Jesse tenses at that laugh. His blood has been scraped from his veins, replaced by liquid nitrogen – freezing and burning in his shock. All traces of sleep flee him and his hands dart up to his head, stubbornly holding out hope this is all some lie, that Saul doesn't know the truth about him. His hands find his head _and ears_ bare. The disappointment is crushing. His hands brush the dully aching injury bandaged at the back of his skull and the night comes back into clearer focus. Jesse stares wide-eyed at Saul, hands clapped over his ears. He scrambles out of the blanket, nearly falling on his face in his haste to free himself from the tangled mess. He has to widen his stance, stumbling into the middle of the room to avoid tripping over the gold and white furball pressed against the bottom of the sofa.

"This doesn't change _anything_," he growls at the general proximity of Saul's chest, words as abrasive as sandpaper in his abused throat. When the other man simply raises an eyebrow at him, and a glance at the doctor reveals a similar confused expression, Jesse glares. He growls again, flashing his teeth briefly, "Yo, I'm not _weak_, or _worthless_; they don't change anything, they're just stupid, goddamn _ears_." The thought that Saul's laughter reveals he finds him a joke like everyone else is aggravating but also deeply heartbreaking. He didn't even know this guy existed a day ago, but the thought that Jesse's already seen as something _inferior_ has his stomach in knots. The Captain whines pitifully, ears flat, belly-crawling toward Jesse. The blond spares him a look, features softening slightly in guilt; he didn't mean to frighten the little guy.

Frowning, Saul stands. Only now does Jesse notice the other man is taller than him. When Saul lifts his hand, Jesse flinches and screws his eyes shut, but he doesn't _move_ aside from that, doesn't drop his hands to defend himself because he's not _weak_. He'll take the hit if that's what's required. Growing up, he'd learned quickly that making noise or reacting – even in defense – resulted in lengthier beatings. Better to take the hits like a man.

Jesse hears Saul's breath hitch. There's movement but Jesse isn't struck and he gradually opens his eyes in curiosity, cautiously looking over to the other man.

Saul still stands before him, but he's obviously taken a step back. When Jesse refuses to move, Drew slowly enters the room.

The doctor flicks a switch on the wall, flooding the room with light. "Everything's alright, Jesse. You're safe here," he soothes, voice pitched low. The Captain whines again and Drew kneels, beckoning the small dog.

Jesse's eyes dart to him guardedly; still stuck fast to the floorboards he sprang to upon wakening.

"You're right," Drew continues, cradling the corgi, "they don't change anything. We've seen them before, do you remember?"

Jesse nods once, a quick dip of his chin. He does remember now – they've been though this already, though it was much less volatile the first time. They hadn't reacted to his ears much at all, really. "Y-yeah, I…I remember…" He relaxes his hold a bit, but keeps his hands clapped over his ears.

The DA slowly eases forward again, smiling warmly – disarmingly – when Jesse looks to him. He steadily lifts his hand, telegraphing every move so that Jesse has time to pull away. Jesse watches avidly, craving the touch in a way he's wholly unfamiliar with, despite his distressed reaction earlier. He isn't used to kind touches aside from a select few people, but he definitely doesn't sense any danger in Saul's movements. The man projects calm.

Saul's careful hand finally reaches his head again, lightly taking hold of one wrist to tug it down and away from his ear.

Jesse allows Saul the action, dropping his other hand after a breath. Saul keeps hold of his wrist, raising his free hand to once more brush through hair and fur. Jesse's ears remain pressed flat to his skull in shame, but the gentle touch is enough to have him relaxing tense muscles in his shoulders. He swallows audibly in the silence that follows his ears being revealed again and keeps his head tilted down, staring at Saul's polished shoes.

"Your ears are beautiful," Saul says and immediately backpedals at Jesse's horrified look. "Hah! I, uhm, I mean, your _markings_…. I've never seen anyone with, uhm, _this_," Saul gestures widely to all of Jesse with a sweep of his arm, "in person before."

Jesse's tempted to call him on his bullshit, because his ears don't have any markings. The fur's just a couple colors mixed together. Before he can open his mouth, Saul clears his throat awkwardly and pushes on, talking in a nervous rush.

"I would ask what it's like, but I'd be a blind man asking someone to describe the color green, wouldn't I? I mean, I can't know your world nor you mine because there's never been anything other than what we've each experienced."

Jesse slowly comes down from his shock in the face of Saul's clumsy display. He scratches absentmindedly behind one of his ears in embarrassment, and that flustered feeling only increases when he catches Saul watching the movement in fascination.

"Have a seat, Jesse," Drew orders, voice firm but an amused tilt to his lips when he looks to Saul.

Jesse's embarrassed to find he's sitting before he realizes he's moved to do it. The sofa cradles him as Drew kneels to set The Captain on the floor again. The dog sits pressed warmly to Jesse's left shin, tail wagging happily while Drew inspect his injuries, touch gentle but clinical as he checks his skull, cheekbones, and throat for increased bruising.

"Everything looks good," he says evenly, testing the flexibility of Jesse's bruised hand. "You're not due for your next dose of painkillers for a couple hours. Are you dizzy at all? Nauseous?"

"No, I'm good," Jesse mumbles. It's nothing he hasn't experienced before. He doesn't have the heart to tell this guy he's used to stronger shit; that the buzz he got from the painkillers barely had enough kick to mute his aches.

Drew nods and stands. "Alright, good. You let me know if anything changes." The doctor slips back into the kitchen, The Captain trailing behind. Jesse can hear him digging around in the fridge.

Despite being used to heavy-hitters, the pills were apparently enough to knock him out. He doesn't remember being tucked in for bed on the sofa, and he only now realizes he's wearing a soft, grey shirt that doesn't belong to him. Thankfully he's still wearing his own cargos, and can feel the press of bundled cash when he moves surreptitiously to check.

"Uhm…" He picks at the collar of the shirt hesitatingly. It's so large he's nearly swimming in it, which is a new experience despite the typical size of his own oversized shirts. He figures it must be Drew's. On the muscled man, it would be a good fit. He doesn't mourn the loss of his own, but the thought of losing Badger's hoodie makes him ill. He glances to Saul when the man settles in his seat next to him again. "Where's my hoodie?"

"It's soaking in the wash along with your shirt," he answers calmly.

"Gonna try to get those bloodstains out," Drew adds, returning from the kitchen. He offers Jesse an icepack wrapped in a tea towel and a bottle of water before handing one to Saul as well. "We made chicken stir-fry earlier. You hungry?"

Jesse shakes his head as he wrestles with the bottle, muscles a little uncooperative. He successfully opens it after a prolonged second, the staccato click of the breaking seal making his ears twitch forward. The Captain plants his forepaws on Jesse's knees again at the interesting sound, ears alert as well. Jesse grins and reaches down to pet the dog, scritching behind his ears and stroking his muzzle – a silent apology for the scare earlier.

He chances a glance at Saul before looking to Drew. He turns his gaze to his bottle and tears at the label anxiously, before apologizing to the room at large. "Sorry. Uhm, for before…" He winces and clenches his teeth. He's always been shit at offering apologies.

Drew waves his apology off with a slightly somber smile. "No worries," he replies in that same, low, calm pitch.

From his side, Saul warmly rumbles, "Jesse…"

His name said in that manner, in something akin to a purr, makes Jesse's eyes slide shut, releases the tight coil of barbed wire that kept his shoulders tight and high.

"You're not weak, or worthless," he says assuredly. "I'm sorry if anything I did made you feel that way, Jesse." He nudges Jesse lightly and continues when the blond gives him his full attention. "You do realize how strong you are, how brave, don't you?"

Jesse blinks at him, intrigued. He strains his ears forward to catch every sound. Saul's breath is calm and confident – the blond can't detect any sign of deception. His scent is as it ever is, clean and woodsy – that sour bite of fear that he had during their encounter with el Caballero is completely absent. When Mr White tries to ply him with praise, his scent changes, and his breath becomes slightly stilted in fear of being caught. Either Saul is an expert at lying, or he's being completely truthful. Something fragile and warm unfurls in Jesse's chest at the sincerity of the praise.

Saul shakes his head disbelievingly. "Jesse, you were ready to literally take a bullet for me tonight."

The blond's brow creases in confusion. That's not something to be commended for; it was only instinct to protect him from a legitimate threat. Before he can find the words to explain it to Saul, Drew cuts in gruffly.

"_You what_," he demands.

That stern tone instantly draws Jesse's attention. He tenses and snaps his head up to look at Drew. The large man towers over the both of them, face drawn into a hard frown. Saul must sense Jesse's unease because the DA suddenly has an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"It's fine, Drew. Everything's cool," Saul says casually.

"You had a gun aimed at you," Drew questions, gaze now fixed firmly on Saul.

"Yeah."

"_Literally_."

"Yeah."

"You best have forgotten what 'literally' means, Saul. Explain."

"You mean, define the word, or—" Saul cuts off in the face of Drew's glower as the man takes a step closer. He laughs and puts his hands up, palms facing out in the universal sign of surrender just as The Captain whines quietly from his seat against Jesse's leg.

The blond reaches down and lays a comforting hand over the dog's head, eyes still warily on Drew.

Drew immediately deflates with a sigh at the sight they both make, two pairs of fuzzy triangles dropped back anxiously and two wide sets of eyes staring up at him. His posture remains lax as he sits back in his armchair, dragging a hand down his face and sighing. "Are you still in trouble," he asks, looking to Jesse then Saul. "Do you need help getting away from someone?"

"No. It's not a problem," Jesse answers before Saul even has time to properly open his mouth to answer.

Both men look at him with identical, unimpressed expressions.

"What?" Jesse shrugs. "It's always been an issue, just never this…bad…" Jesse watches The Captain scamper off down the hall on his little legs. "I got careless," he mutters. "I'll be quicker, next time."

"That's normal, then?" Drew asks with a frown, "You're used to having guns drawn on you?"

Jesse shrugs again. Until recently, it hadn't been typical, no. He figures he should only really be concerned when he no longer feels fear while in the crosshairs. He catches the other two men sharing a weighted look and he frowns. He imagines as soon as he falls asleep again, they'll be discussing everything without him.

No one speaks for a beat, in which time The Captain returns, bounding up to Drew with a stuffed armadillo toy in his mouth. He offers his prized treasure with a muffled yip and wagging tail. Drew reaches down to pet him, taking the toy with a grin. "You don't have to bring me peace offerings, buddy; I'm not mad." He teases the dog with the toy, shaking it and brushing it against his muzzle until The Captain tries to snap at it excitedly, he then throws it back down the hall. The dog skitters across the wooden floor to retrieve it, hurriedly bringing it back to Drew.

Jesse smiles at the display, watching them play fetch for a couple minutes while he finishes his water and uses the icepack to ice his cheek. His throat is too sensitive to keep the ice on it for more than a few seconds so he takes to alternating between his cheek and his knuckles. It isn't long before the credits start to roll on the screen and sleep tugs at him again, prompting another yawn and mew. He blinks sluggishly and relinquishes the icepack when Saul slips it from his slack hand. Saul encourages him to lie down again as Drew stands to throw in a different movie.

Jesse's eyes slip shut a breath after he's horizontal. He rolls onto his side, facing away from the glare of the television as Saul pulls the blanket up to his shoulders. He makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat at the feel of Saul's hand hovering warmly over his head, indecisive. He doesn't react but to yawn again, comfortable with this man in a way that once only extended to Badger and Aunt Ginny. At his lack of negative reaction, Saul's fingers once more comb through his hair and gradually move on to his ears. He allows himself a small purr, drawing his hands up to his nose to hide behind them slightly. A familiar intro track plays from the television, and it isn't until Jesse hears Bruce Lee's distinct battle cry that he pins the film down as Game of Death without turning to check. The Captain's tags finally fall silent as the dog settles at Drew's feet and the sound of the dog's contented sigh leaves Jesse with one less thing to worry over. He grins into his loosely clasped fists, drifting on the comforting rumble within his chest and the tender drag of the pads of Saul's fingers over his ears. These are the sensations that carry him off to the land of Nod.


	9. Chapter 9

Jesse wakes with a start, choking on a scream and clawing at his throat. He's missing his shirt, wearing only a pair of cargo shorts, which oddly makes his panic spike. It takes several gasping breaths for him to realize he's alone and the only hands near his neck are his own; the cause of his limited air is the gas mask over his face. He tears it off and pants raggedly into the open air of the Crystal Ship. It's still dark out, and he dedicates all the focus he can spare away from filling his lungs to listening to the night outside. The last time he'd had a nightmare in a rest-stop lot, a concerned mother of two had warily knocked on his door to check on him. He'd had a difficult go of explaining away the lack of furnishings in his RV, feeling the whole time like a creeper. He was surprised she hadn't insisted on checking for another person in his vehicle, because there _had_ been screams, and who else but rapists and murderers would travel in a shoddy mess like the Crystal Ship?

No knock sounds on his door, and his lot neighbors remain quiet. He must have woken up before it got bad enough to warrant investigation. He kicks his bedroll away, irritated and covered in sweat born of fear. The longer he sits on the linoleum, the more the nightmare fades from his memory. It had something to do with choking. Drowning maybe, but he'd bet money it had to do with el Caballero. He can't shake the fear of that encounter. Nothing happened, damn it, and he should be able to get over it, stop being such a little bitch. But whenever he isn't distracted, when he zones out for too long, those are the thoughts that jump to the forefront of his mind. His utter panic; the way his typically sharp reflexes had failed him; how all conscious thought had fled him, stripping him to his base instinct to run, run,_ run_. What if his swing had missed? Hadn't broken that bastard's zygomatic bone and instead only grazed his cheek or glanced off his ear? What if Saul hadn't shown up?

Jesse sighs heavily, dropping back to the floor. He drags his hands down his face, muffling a frustrated groan into his fists. Now that he's no longer preoccupied with his nightmare, the migraine he's been battling for a couple days registers again and he screws his eyes shut, struggling to unclench his jaw and relax. The last time he'd had a migraine had been when he was twelve, after a nasty fall off the roof of his house. He hadn't told anyone – afraid of the beating his father would give him – so he'd suffered alone through the pain of halos and loud noise for a week before it had eventually disappeared. He'd forgotten the absolute agony they can bring.

He rolls to his side, burying his head in Badger's hoodie, which is clean and blood-free thanks to Drew's magic. He takes deep belly breaths through the fabric, immensely grateful that it's still dark out; he can't imagine the torture sunlight would bring. He carefully drags his fingers across the injury at the back of his skull. His hair is coming in around the site already, bristly but familiar in comparison to the foreign catch of the suture across the pads of his fingers. The area is still sore, and a wide band spreading up from it and between his ears all the way to the bridge of his nose is where his migraine resides. It feels like he's been punched right between the eyes. Repeatedly.

He hugs the hoodie to his chest, allowing himself a single, pitiful whine in the back of his throat because he's alone and no one is around to witness him being this weak. Truthfully, he'd rather not be alone. Being injured or sick always turns him into a needy, whiney mess. He imagines Badger or Saul would humor him, bring him sugary drinks and maybe even pet him a bit. He never imagined he'd grow to enjoy that, but in the time he's been away from either man, he's missed the sense of security and warmth petting brings. It's a deep ache in his chest, a craving almost as bad as the craving for a hit of the blue. The easiest, least _embarrassing_ craving to sate would be the one for meth. He'd been so tempted to pull out his pipe, to swipe a few shards from each individual bag he had left to sell – amounts small enough that his buyers wouldn't notice, just enough for one hit. But he knew from experience that the migraine would be immeasurably worse with the inevitable crash from that high. At any rate, that pleasure didn't linger like the warm pleasure that petting brought.

He's thought about Saul's thin, clever fingers running through his hair and across his ears more than he'd like to admit. It's been three days since the man was forced to forfeit a night to Jesse's concussion, and Jesse has yet to take him up on his offer for lunch.

It's not that he's avoiding him… Other things just got in the way. He'd taken his earnings to Mr White to give the man his share, quietly enduring the man's unimpressed raised eyebrow and disappointed head shake when Mr White caught sight of his sorry state. But he hadn't posed any questions over the bruises, and Jesse hadn't felt compelled to share anything. He'd also made another tentative run to sell the rest of his half of their recent batch, jittery in his skin and jumpy as fuck at the smell of menthols and at any mention of el Caballero. He was unable to move much product, too preoccupied with avoiding places he'd seen that bastard hanging around on previous runs. He'd caved and spent ten bucks on a new beanie, and nearly twenty on a small, folding Gerber knife that fit comfortably in his palm. He'd also bought a belt, made sure to always keep it tightly drawn through his belt loops – one more hindrance should a repeat occurrence arise. Small things that he convinced himself were changes he'd have made eventually anyway…

Another spike of pain lances through his skull, directly behind his right eye. It feels like there's a rat inside his head, chewing hungrily at his optic nerves. He groans, running a hand clumsily through his hair to inadequately mimic the movements of Saul's sure fingers.

The blond has the DA's business card in his pocket, and it burns, weighted with possibility, but Jesse feels that the equation is a bit one-sided. He owes Saul a lot – owes him for the safety and care that he's never been very good at reciprocating – and at the end of their long night, Saul had even given him his three-hundred back, deaf to all of Jesse's protests. The blond fears that his infatuation with the man is too fierce to be healthy. Surely Saul doesn't feel the same way, why would he? Jesse knows he doesn't have much to offer, knows he's often more trouble than he's worth. He's just some cat-eared punk, and he's gotta be at least ten years Saul's junior. The man definitely has better options. He could have someone, _anyone_ safer, more experienced, or at least settled enough to not be living in a goddamn gutted mobile home. Hell, the guy may even be married; not everyone wears their wedding bands all the time. Jesse doesn't know enough about him to even guess.

Pain pulses unrelentingly along that invisible band across his skull, burning behind his eye and just below it to the bruises over his cheekbone. His ears drop back naturally in reaction to the pain, but that pull of muscles only manages to intensify his agony. His breath catches and he chokes back another weak noise. There's hardly enough light for even his gifted eyes to see much, but it's still enough to make his head pound and his stomach twist. He squints and fumbles around his small pile of discarded items to locate the pain meds Drew gave him. The doctor had warned him that headaches may be a possibility, but he never said they'd make Jesse want to puke every ten minutes and run into traffic or jump off a building in search of relief. He swallows two pills dry, grimacing at the bitter taste the uncoated tablets leave behind.

He knows they take a while to kick in, and to avoid his thoughts inevitably drifting back to that night in the alley, Jesse chooses the more selfish route of focusing on Saul. He's never thought of another man the way he does Saul. He cares for Badger, but it's more like the love he feels for Jake. It's the only kind of love he's truly known, which is why he originally figured that was what he felt toward the DA. He knows better, now. Saul is in another category entirely. The giddy feeling he'd get whenever he succeeded in making Saul laugh or smile – warm, blue eyes crinkling up in amusement – and the rush of pleasure he got any time Saul said his name was decidedly _not_ brotherly.

It takes eons for the pain to dull. Jesse focuses on his measured breath the entire time, kneading at the hoodie rhythmically and shamefully thinking of Saul's kind eyes until sleep finally claims him again.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse side-eyes his phone like it's a viper coiled to strike. He lifts Saul's card and sighs, flicking the foxed corner and propping his chin on the heel of his palm. He shuts his tired eyes for a long beat. Saul's number is already loaded on the screen, bright white on black unwaveringly presented to his uneasy gaze. 505.503.4455. Jesse's typed it in and deleted it three times now. All he has to do is hit Talk.

What is he going to say, though? Nothing seems right. There's no room to be casual because he doesn't have any reason to call other than wanting to talk to him. If there was at least a purpose… If he was calling for legal advice, he wouldn't feel like he'd be causing trouble. What if Saul doesn't even wanna talk, what if he just gave him his card out of habit? Jesse's migraine throbs, makes his head feel too small for his brain. He drops his hand and his finger hovers over the delete button. He looks at the card again, the stylized scrawl of Saul's name and business info on crisp cardstock. He exhales and drops his index finger on Talk.

He listens nervously to the automated answering service, gradually lulled by the familiar sound of Saul's voice and unique humor. He isn't sure which option to choose because none of them really apply. Option one is a bit close to home but it's not why he's calling, so he chooses four just to be a smartass.

"Thank you for calling the offices of Saul Goodman," a bored receptionist answers. "To begin, please state which type of animal you were accused of smuggling."

Jesse huffs a laugh, can't help it – does Saul really get calls concerning that? "Yo, uhm, I didn't smuggle anything. I, uhm, I'm just calling…?" Jesse offers weakly, clapping a hand over his eyes at his awkward idiocy.

The woman on the other line pauses for a moment. "Alright," she says with a confused lilt. "Let's begin with your name, then."

"Uhm, it's Jesse."

There's another pause and when the woman speaks again, Jesse can detect the smile in her voice. "Oh? Jesse, huh? Would you happen to be a _friend_ of Saul's, Jesse?"

"Uhm… I guess?"

"What color are your eyes, Jesse?" she asks teasingly.

"They're blue," he replies haltingly.

"Like the clear sky on a sunny day over the ocean?" she asks and laughs helplessly.

"What? What does that—"

"Hah, don't mind her, Jesse," Saul's familiar tenor suddenly sparks over the line. "Francesca obviously needs a lesson on phone etiquette." In a hushed hiss Jesse overhears Saul ask Francesca, "_Seriously? Why didn't you just patch him through? I gave you one job, woman…"_

The blond strains his ears for her response but all he catches is an indecipherable teasing statement said in a sing-song manner.

"I'm gonna put you on hold for a bit, kid. I'll pick up again from my office, alright?"

"Yeah, sure."

Hold music plays for a mere second before the line is picked up again.

"Saul likes peanut butter cups, Jesse," Francesca tells him in a hushed tone.

Jesse hardly has time to make a confused noise before another click sounds and Saul growls, "Get off the line, Francesca."

The woman laughs and hangs up.

"Jesus," Saul huffs.

"No, it's Jesse," the blond replies. It surprises a bark of laugher from Saul and something warm expands in Jesse's chest.

"I'm glad you called, kid. I've been kicking myself for days for not getting your number. I've wanted to check up on you, but I don't even have your address. Next time, you'll have to let me drop you off at your house and not just your block."

"Ah, next time?" Jesse worries his lip between his teeth. He'd hoped Saul wouldn't find it odd, refusing to get a ride directly to his non-existent house – but now he isn't sure how long he can dodge it. He can't even remember which block he'd had the man drop him off at, so continuing the ruse is going to be difficult.

"Well, I mean… Not next time, as in, I predict you'll be suffering from concussions often, I just mean… Y'know, next time you need a lift," Saul rambles. He laughs and there's a rapid, nervous tapping for a moment that Jesse eventually recognizes as a pen against a desk. "Anyway, listen, you hungry? I promised you lunch."

"Uhm, yeah, actually. That sounds good," Jesse admits. The last meal he had consisted of a burger off the dollar menu and a free coffee, which may or may not have been free, but the setup hadn't been under strict watch and Jesse had always been light-fingered.

That had been sometime around midday yesterday. He hasn't given himself much time to dwell on it until Saul brought it up, but he's near starving.

"Great. Come by the office."

"Alright, cool."

"See you soon, Jesse."

"Later," Jesse replies, hanging up with a smile. He quickly gathers his gear for a wash in the rest stop shower stall.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

By the time Jesse reaches the office, he's tired, over-heated and slightly nauseous. He contemplates resting outside for a moment, just to compose himself, because he's a mess enough already without looking like he's been walking around in a goddamn desert. Which, well, technically he has been.

But it's gotta be air-conditioned inside, and Jesse can't fight the temptation of cool air and a spot on Saul's sofa.

The door doesn't chime when he walks in, which he's grateful for, as his ears seem to be painfully sensitive under his so-new-its-annoyingly-tight beanie. A gasp lances though the air in lieu of a chime, and his ears twitch uncomfortably at the sound. He realizes a second too late that the lack of a notification for entry to the building is because the receptionist's desk faces it directly.

A woman is making her way around the partition to stand in front of him. She looks concerned and Jesse briefly glances over his shoulder, expecting someone else to be the cause for her worry.

"Jesse?" She asks gently, head tilted slightly.

"Uhm, yeah, that's me," he responds, watching her in confusion.

"Saul said you'd seen some trouble recently, but I didn't think…" She trails off, eyes darting away in what Jesse thinks may be embarrassment.

He reaches up and touches his cheek, shifting his own eyes away from her. The dark bruise ringing his neck burns in his shame and he dips his head slightly in a subconscious gesture to hide it.

"Did he do something to you, sweetie?" She asks in a guarded tone.

For a beat, Jesse thinks she means el Caballero. He fears Saul may have told her everything, but when she nods to the closed door of Saul's office in a subtle move, the blond stiffens in anger.

"What?" Jesse asks sharply, snapping his head back up to face her. "No, of course not." He frowns at her, hands dropping to his sides to form tight fists. "He's been nothing but good," Jesse growls, flashing his teeth briefly.

She backs up slightly at the display and Jesse relaxes immediately in guilt.

"He's done nothing but look out for me," the blond adds, tone soft. He can't imagine Saul raising a hand to him, but he supposes he doesn't really know the man at all, truthfully. Perhaps this woman knows something he doesn't. He wavers a bit, features twisting into doubt as he considers it.

She seems to read his bruised face correctly, because she rushes to assure him, "No, no, of course. He's a good man. I've only seen him angry once, to be honest, and he isn't the type to, well…"

Jesse nods, glancing away again awkwardly. Saul's office door opens to reveal a sketchy looking white dude dressed in an ill-fitting suit, Saul standing behind him looking much more comfortable in his own suit. When Saul catches sight of Jesse, his currently business-polite smile suddenly widens into something warm and genuine. Jesse returns a one-sided smirk. Saul's scent blankets him and he relaxes after a deep breath of it. Jesse moves absentmindedly out of the doorway when the client quickly slinks out of the building.

Saul approaches with an easy glide, dropping a warm hand on Jesse's shoulder. "Hey, kid. How you doin'?"

"Good," Jesse mumbles, shrugging the shoulder Saul's hand _isn't_ on; he doesn't dare do both in fear that Saul will think he's trying to shake him off.

Saul removes his hand from his shoulder and Jesse's flash of disappointment is briefly lived, as Saul's now pressing the underside of his wrist to Jesse's forehead.

"You're burning up, Jesse." Saul plucks at the blond's hoodie with a frown. "Do me a favor, take this off?" He turns to the woman and lifts both hands in the universal sign for what-the-fuck? "Didn't you offer him a drink, Francesca?"

The woman, Francesca – Jesse finally has a face to the name – rolls her eyes at Saul and flashes a smile to Jesse. "Orange juice alright, sweetie?" At Jesse's nod, she steps into the hallway toward one of the unmarked rooms.

Saul turns back to him and tugs at his hoodie again. "C'mon, Jesse, off. Did you walk here? Christ, it's gotta be at least eighty degrees today." He reaches up for Jesse's beanie, hesitating for a moment but once Jesse bows his head he proceeds to remove the knitted item.

Jesse paws at his ears for a moment, grooming the fur back into place before he shucks his hoodie.

"You wanna eat out, or order in," Saul asks, handing Jesse his beanie back.

Ordering in would allow the blond to comfortably remain hatless, and he doesn't really anticipate better reactions from strangers to his appearance than what he got from Francesca. "If we eat here, at least people won't think I went too many rounds in an MMA fight."

Saul offers a single huff of amused air. "True." He reaches past Jesse to flip the Open sign to Closed. Turning back, he brushes a thumb lightly over the blond's cheek, a worried crease between his brows. "Is it still sore?"

"A lil'," Jesse murmurs, pressing into the contact lightly, eyes closing of their own accord.

The exclamation, _oh my god,_ has his eyes flicking open and his ears twitching forward.

"You're so _cute_," Francesca continues, returning with his bottle of orange juice.

Jesse frowns, glancing to Saul for assistance but the man simply smiles at him disarmingly and shrugs. Jesse sighs and reaches lamely for his drink without comment.


	10. Chapter 10

"The veggies, too, Jesse," Saul murmurs from across the office, voice considerately pitched low after Jesse had admitted to his headache.

Jesse's ears track the soft voice while he licks a chopstick clean of orange sauce. Saul continues to work at the desk for a moment, setting up a small fan and angling it toward the sofa. He soaks a new set of paper towels in a bowl of cool water while the air flows coolly over the blond. The man returns to the patterned sofa carrying the bowl, balancing it in his lap and pulling another soaking paper towel from it. He wrings it of most of the water before switching it out for the towel currently draped over the back of Jesse's neck.

Jesse shivers under the fresh, cold towel.

"Veggies," Saul urges, fussing with the towel for a moment.

Jesse gives a noncommittal grunt to the repeated request, digging through his Chinese food to pick the pieces of chicken out, eating them happily. Saul presses the width of his palm to Jesse's neck, forming the towel to cling snuggly and Jesse edges closer to Saul in what he hopes is a smooth, sneaky move, but realizes he's failed when he hears Saul huff quietly in amusement.

Saul leans across Jesse to retrieve the exhausted paper towels hanging off Jesse's arms. Jesse inhales discreetly at the man's exposed neck, relaxing at Saul's warm scent. He languidly watches the man toss the paper towels into the water bowl and switch them for new ones. When Saul drags the softened material down his mildly reddened skin and over his hands, it ruins his work with his chopsticks for a beat.

Jesse growls affectionately, leaning back a bit from the obstacle Saul poses to eagerly continue eating his orange chicken. He settles again when Saul drapes those cool towels over his bare forearms, covering the gooseflesh that's broken out along the length of them in absence of his hoodie.

"Vegetables, Jesse," Saul says again, deft fingers combing through Jesse's hair between his ears briefly before a cool towel is folded and placed atop his head.

Jesse digs his bare toes into the blue carpet at the fleeting sensation. He pointedly trades his takeout box for the one full of vegetables. He snags a shock of broccoli and a slice of carrot with the ends of his chopsticks, and pops them in his mouth with theatrical movments. He's rewarded with a soft laugh from Saul, the other man relaxing noticeably against the sofa.

Jesse nudges Saul's lo mein toward the overly concerned man and ducks his head slightly at the smile Saul gives him. He takes a few more vegetables into his mouth before reclaiming his orange chicken. Saul fusses with the towel over his head gently, fingertips lingering. Jesse stares into his nearly empty food container to avoid eye contact for a breath and startles when Saul drags a renewed towel across his cheeks and forehead tenderly.

"I'm fine, Saul. Not even hot anymore," Jesse protests, leaning back and bumping shoulders with the DA.

"You still look a little red, kid," Saul says obliviously, lips pulled down in a mild frown. He tosses the towel into the bowl again. "So be a good boy and indulge me for just a bit longer."

Jesse ducks his head and finishes his food quickly, cheeks hot and ears pulling back slightly in his embarrassment. "I'm fine," Jesse repeats, mumbling.

Saul smiles fondly and hands him a mug of ice water. "We're not going to tempt heat exhaustion, Jesse. Drink up; small sips."

Jesse drinks slowly, hand cupped around the ridiculously large mug.

"Good, Jesse," Saul murmurs as he lifts his own food container again.

Something warm expands in Jesse's chest that has nothing to do with the temperature outside. He closes his eyes contentedly before pulling the cup away. He looks down at the bold decal of the DA smirking and pointing toward the camera on one side of the mug; _In Legal Trouble? Better Call Saul!_ emblazoned across the other side.

"Are all of your mugs like this," Jesse asks, quirking his lip and side-eying Saul.

"Do all of my mugs have my mug on it, you mean?"

Jesse snorts and drags a palm down his face at the awful pun.

Saul grins. "No, I assure you, only the ones at the office. I'm not narcissistic enough to have these at my house." The DA selects a few pieces of chicken from his own meal, dropping them into Jesse's empty container while the blond slowly takes another drink. "Francesca will be back with the Gatorade soon."

Jesse absentmindedly hands Saul the mug back before digging into his food carton earnestly, quickly eating the chicken Saul was kind enough to share. The DA drops in a few more pieces and he nudges Saul in thanks, making quick work of those as well. He leans back against the sofa cushions, purring contentedly once he's finished his last bite. He's content to watch Saul finish eating from the corner of his eye, listening to the steady hum of the desktop fan.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse nuzzles into the sheets on the lumpy pull-out bed, drunk on the heady, reassuring scent of Saul. He knows the man must sleep here in this office often enough to allow for his scent to cling to the sheets but infrequently enough that the man hasn't laundered them lately.

Jesse much prefers this smell to the bland smell of detergent.

He imagines Saul likely sleeps here after long days that end in him too tired to drive home. Or perhaps he catches cat naps between clients. It's likely, given all the free time he seems to have available to check on Jesse. He's been sleeping off and on for just south of three hours in Saul's back office, comfortable enough to doze in this safe place while Saul finishes work for the day.

After Francesca had returned from the corner store, Jesse had downed a Gatorade just to please the DA, despite the awful taste. When he'd gotten ready to leave shortly after, Saul had denied him. He'd refused to let Jesse back out into the blistering day geared up in his beanie and hoodie. The ultimatum had been either stay put and nap for a bit – at least until the cool evening – or take Saul's car to wherever he'd needed to go.

Truthfully, Jesse hadn't needed to be anywhere, and the thought of taking yet _more_ from Saul made him uncomfortable. So he'd stayed, gotten the full tour of the unmarked doors; the break room and Saul's private office lounge.

Saul had insisted he rest a bit, setting the fan up on a file cabinet for him, aimed toward the extended futon. After getting a whiff of the sheets, something in Jesse had effortlessly settled with a peace he'd only recently begun to expect when around Saul. He hadn't resisted Saul's demands long, drifting off before the older man had even left the room.

Jesse stirs at the sound of the door slowly easing open. He peeks over his shoulder at Saul and smiles sleepily.

"Hey, kid," Saul murmurs. "Brought you some more water and ibuprofen."

Jesse frowns, burying his face in the pillow. "Yo, anymore water and I'm gonna drown."

Saul laughs, rounding the bed to stand over Jesse's prone form. "Well, I'd offer Gatorade, but the first one you drank seemed to cause your soul to wither." He musses Jesse's hair a bit, clever fingers massaging at his ears until Jesse lifts his face from the pillow, purring quietly, muscles turning to liquid. As soon as his forehead is exposed, Saul's wrist is pressing against it to check for unnatural heat again.

"I think you're alright," Saul concedes, placing the bottle of water and pill bottle on the desk against the wall. "But I don't have training like Drew does, so what do I know? Your physiology may be different, anyway."

Jesse huffs in annoyance, mumbling, "'M not _that_ diff'rent." He then promptly contradicts himself by yawning, mew tagging the end before he stretches languidly. Saul's warm laugh has him smiling despite himself. The man's hand drops back down to his head, threading along his hair and tracing his ears.

Jesse relaxes into the uneven mattress. He considers offering to buy Saul a better one, doesn't even mind that it would dig into the car fund, but he figures he should wait until he's not currently sleeping on it, because that strikes him as awkward and rude.

"You're wearing your thinking face, kid," Saul murmurs, dragging a thumb over one of Jesse's unconsciously slanted brows over his closed eyes. "Just relax; get some more sleep, alright?"

Jesse makes an effort to relax his features, hands kneading the sheet for a few seconds to lift Saul's scent up again. A few quiet moments pass, with Saul's kind palm working over his skull and the fan working steadily from the file cabinet. The blond doesn't even realize his thoughts are slipping until he's lost to sleep once more.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

He lets his mind drift, sleep coaxing him back under with each rhythmic inhale of Saul's scent. It's rare for him to sleep this long any given night on the Crystal Ship, and while he figured he'd be bored – essentially stuck here because he lacks the will to deny Saul's request – his body seems satisfied with the opportunity to do nothing but recharge.

The sound of Francesca greeting someone just as the front door closes makes one ear flick toward the hall. It's impressive, the amount of clients Saul sees in a day, even with the extended lunch break he'd taken for Jesse's sake.

There's a sharp, startled gasp and a frantic commotion in the lobby – which must include either a chair or table being knocked over for all the wooden clattering. It immediately has Jesse focused and tense. Saul's voice follows the brief silence; words indecipherable, but rushed and pleading. Nervous. Like he'd been when they'd first met.

"_Shut up!_" an unfamiliar voice booms over Saul's babble.

Jesse vaults from the bed, beanie tugged down over his ears before his feet even touch the floor. He wrenches the door open, overwhelmed momentarily by the sharp scent of aggression that slams into him. For a fleeting breath it reminds him of el Caballero and his stomach flips anxiously. On his next inhale, he catches the scent of fear, woven through with Saul's spicy cologne and Francesca's flowery perfume. It steels his nerves and he darts down the hallway.

Jesse's blood boils at the sight of a stranger in a blue snapback and an oversized hoodie holding an unresisting Saul up by the collar of his suit jacket.

Saul is pressed aggressively against the wall. He looks scared: hands held up stiffly, all his muscles tense and his weight leaned back, wide eyes fixed on his aggressor. It takes a second for Jesse to realize the DA hasn't attempted to tug free because there's a _knife_ to his _throat._

Jesse looses a guttural growl from between his teeth, shoulders hunched and rolled forward. The sound is enough to have everyone turning toward him in shock. He glares at the intruder from under furrowed brows and feels a burst of confidence when the other man falters a bit, letting up on Saul and shifting his weight away from Jesse in an inadvertent display of fear.

Saul moves a fraction of a step clear of the knife and Jesse takes the open opportunity. The blond springs forward, clearing the hall in a brutal sprint before leaping and planting one hand on the floor. He draws his legs up with the momentum and pivots at the hip, kicking up and back with both legs angled together. The strike catches the man in the chest and throws him away from Saul.

Jesse rolls and quickly finds his footing, gaze instantly seeking out Saul to gauge his status. He catches the tang of blood in the air just as his eyes land on the thin, sluggishly bleeding nick on Saul's pale throat. Saul doesn't even seem to notice it, eyes fixed squarely on Jesse, staring with mouth slightly agape in disbelief.

Jesse gut twists in guilt when he glances down to the cut again and his vision whites out in anger. He growls again, turning back to the man sprawled on the floor just as Francesca warns him with a sharp cry of, "He's getting up!"

The man is embarrassingly slow in recovering. Just as he stands up, Jesse takes note of the missing snapback, spotting the black cat ears that had been hidden beneath. They're uncovered, exposed, _vulnerable. _They're pressed flat, Jesse assumes from pain with the way the guy's clutching at his chest exaggeratedly.

Jesse reaches forward, clutching one of the man's ears in an unforgiving grip, yanking him fully to his feet by it and roughly directing him toward the door. He gets a fist to his hip and under his ribs but the hits barely register. He ducks a wild swipe of the knife as the man hisses at him, ineffectually struggling in an attempt to break free of the painful hold.

Drawing his fistful down and swinging his knee up, Jesse catches the bastard in the temple with a sound that resonates in the empty lobby. The move dazes him enough to give Jesse another opening. The blond slams his free hand into the guy's wrist, knocking the flimsy joint hard enough that he drops the knife. Jesse kicks it away with a quick sweep of his foot, unconcerned with where it lands as long as it's no longer in this asshole's hands. He shoves him toward the door again, single-mindedly focused on the goal of getting this bitch _out_. Away from Saul.

He catches two more fists to his sides for his trouble, and he finally releases the man's ear to strike with a front snap kick, sneaker planting firmly in the middle of his chest. The force of the connection sends the guy crashing into the door, bodily shoving it opening on protesting hinges and nearly falling on his ass once he stumbles onto the pavement outside. He's hit the door hard enough to engage the locking feature; it stands propped wide open and Jesse follows him out, shoulders rolled forward. His gaze is fiercely focused on his target as he continues to stumble clumsily back from the stalking blond.

Jesse scans the lot and finds them alone, glad that he doesn't have to worry about another combatant stepping into this mess. In his brief lapse of concentration, the bastard draws a gun from his waistband. The muzzle is all but seven inches from Jesse's chest.

The bastard cocks it and spits out, "_Fuck you._ Do you know _who I am_?"

Jesse doesn't flinch, fueled by an anger which overrides any fear he'd undoubtedly be floored by. He glares eye-to-eye for the second preceding Saul's distressed, soul-wrenching yell of "_Jesse!"_

The gun-wielding bastard's focus is broken in the moment between one blink and another, killing intent slipping from his gaze, and that's all it takes for Jesse to lunge forward. He grips the barrel in a tight fist, wrenching it away from his own chest and to the side. The guy squeezes off a shot and it goes wide, between the both of them into the lot aimlessly. The recoil jolts Jesse's hand but he's quick to regain his grip, resolutely ignoring the heat of the gun, twisting again with enough force to break the resisting finger trapped in the trigger guard.

The guy _howls_, tugging free and staggering back. Jesse claims control over the gun. He squares his shoulders and widens his stance, both hands wrapped around the grip like the dude in the tutorial video demonstrated. Jesse's never been so grateful to have researched something in his sorry, goddamn life.

"I don't give a fuck who you are," Jesse growls evenly. "If I ever catch you near these two again," Jesse flicks his chin back to indicate Saul and Francesca still inside the building, "I'll _fucking kill you,_" he promises through bared teeth.

When the man only stares up at him dumbly, eyes wide and one hand cradling his broken finger, Jesse lifts an eyebrow.

"This is where you get in your car and drive away, bitch," he says with another flash of teeth. He keeps the gun squarely trained on him, sure to keep his eyes hard and locked on target.

The guy eases back, eyes never leaving Jesse as he walks backwards to his car. It isn't until he's got the car door open that he speaks up again. "You're gonna regret this, man."

Jesse doesn't reply. He stonily keeps the gun aimed and waits far beyond the point that the guy's driven off the lot and down the street to finally lower it.

The sound of Saul's familiar footfall nearing the open doorway makes Jesse's ears slant back. It only takes a moment for the wind outside to carry the man's scent to him again, and it has Jesse's shoulders relaxing in inches.

"Jesse," Saul murmurs, voice low. He steps next to the blond, eyes warm but concerned. The muscles around that expressive gaze are noticeably tight. He still has faint traces of fear lingering about him.

Jesse glances away, looking down to flick the magazine release, catching the magazine before ejecting the bullet in the chamber. Both hands are occupied with the inactive gun when Saul places a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay," Jesse asks, eyes darting to Saul's neck. The cut's stopped bleeding, but there's a thin trail of blood that's traveled down to dip below his collar.

He drops the gun and bullets in surprise when Saul abruptly wraps him up in a tight hug. It's only a breath before Jesse's melting into the hold, lifting his own arms to return it and nuzzling into the clean side of Saul's neck, the man's scent is _finally_ free from any twist of fear. Jesse presses close, aware that them staying put is dangerous; they need to get moving before that asshole decides to return with backup. Hell, Jesse doesn't even know who he is, what he's gotten himself into. But he's unable to voice those concerns, unable to pull away from Saul's embrace; he isn't strong enough to deny himself this.

The decision to linger is made easier when Saul says his name again, in a weighted whisper, like it _means_ something. He closes his eyes and fists Saul's jacket, the early evening quiet around them.


	11. Chapter 11

Jesse uses his lighter to burn another hole into the stupid blue snapback that asshole left behind. His eyes dart to the street sign they pass, making sure Saul stays true to his word and continues to make his way to Drew's place. Francesca's already made it home, texting Saul as they'd both requested of her. Saul had declared the next two days 'mental health' days; told the receptionist to take it easy but to be cautious, and to _definitely_ avoid the office in that timeframe.

Jesse still isn't quite sure what kind of trouble he's stirred up for the lot of them, but Saul seems to be taking it all in stride, so he isn't as nervous as he could be. He flicks the lighter to life again and presses it to the woven material of the cap, watching the fire eat away at it before he kills the small flame between his thumb and the bend of his forefinger.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," Saul grumbles. "It smells awful. You're probably releasing all kinds of chemicals. Where was that hat made, China? I bet it was China. You're going to kill us."

Jesse laughs, flashing an amused grin at Saul. He lowers his window in compromise. He flicks the lighter to use again.

"Seriously, kid." Saul grimaces. "Can you not smell it? Why are you doing that?" The man glances over when they reach a stop sign.

"Because, of everything that bitch left behind," the locked gun and the knife currently reside in his pockets, "this is the least useful. And he's not around, but I still want to kick his ass," Jesse growls between his teeth. "So this is the next best thing."

Saul shakes his head, glancing down to the hat that is slowly resembling a honeycomb – a strangely beautiful network of holes – and sets the car moving again. He makes a point of hitting his window button, lowering the window on his side of the car as well.

Taking that as permission to continue, Jesse burns another series of holes into the stupid hat. Saul's right, the smell is nauseating, but he can't help himself. It's almost therapeutic. It's the only thing keeping him in his seat, the only thing keeping him from running off to track that bitch down and finish the beating. Every time he glances at Saul, sees that cut along his throat – cleaned up marginally, but still bleeding, angry and red – he feels restless. His muscles tense with rage and it feels like his skin is too tight.

"Who was that bitch, anyway?" Jesse asks. He'd wanted to know the second he'd spotted him threatening Saul, but had been too preoccupied with getting rid of the threat to question much of anything. Now that he's idle, his curiosity has the best of him.

Saul is oddly silent for a long beat and Jesse glances over. The blond fists the ruined hat and glares out the window.

"Someone you know?" For a second, he plays with the possibility that he may have been a past lover – maybe Saul had a _type_. Scorned people could turn into real nutjobs; maybe he'd interrupted a violent domestic. But no, Saul had said Jesse was the first person he'd ever seen up close with this mutation. Jesse further reconsiders the way Saul's body language had indicated the guy holding him at knife-point was anything but familiar or cared for. A stranger then, or at least a brief acquaintance. "Someone big, huh," he hazards. "Someone dangerous?"

Clearing his throat, the older man finally responds, "Yeah. He's one of Bustamante's core members."

Jesse laughs humorlessly. "Fucking figures." Jesse always manages to find himself in trouble – it's the one reliable constant in his life.

Saul sighs heavily as he turns onto a new street. "I still wasn't quite sure where you stood within all those groups." He glances over at Jesse fleetingly, apologetically. "I mean, I was reluctant to get involved, but I _believed you_ when you said you weren't affiliated with Bustamante or the late Tuco," he rushes to assure. "Still, seeing you take on one of Bustamante's lackeys definitely cemented things."

"No one would make a stupid move like that, is what you're saying," Jesse asks with a grin. That little bitch's parting words to him ring with a bit more clarity in his mind now that he realizes the weight behind them. At Saul's hesitant nod, Jesse shrugs. "Well, fuck that guy. I can take him again." It's the big bad that he's not too sure about.

"I have no doubts that you could. That scene definitely wasn't staged. I've only seen rage like that a handful of times before, and never have I seen the kind of grace and control you displayed while fighting."

Jesse feels his face heat up at the compliment. It makes the bruises he can feel forming along his ribs worth it. He distracts himself by burning one last hole into the hat, in the last square of space left intact. "'S nothin'," he mumbles. "I've been freerunning since I was a kid; kinda comes with the genetics. Feels right to move around like that, to feel those muscles working." Jesse passes his lighter across the length of the snap strip a few times, ignoring Saul's displeased gaze. He melts it into a solid block of plastic. "The fighting came later. I'll admit I'm better at evading and retreating." He paws at his nose for a second, embarrassed. He doesn't always run, but more times than not, it's the best option.

"And the ear-pulling?" Saul asks teasingly.

"Yeah, that was dirty, but he shouldn't have exposed them in a fight. Shoulda ducked away."

"Why? They're a vulnerability?" Saul glances to him in question.

"Hell yeah, they hurt," Jesse mumbles, clawing determinedly at the button on top of the hat.

Saul hesitates, and when he speaks again, his voice is tight, "You mean, all the time?"

Jesse finally tugs the button free, ripping stitching loose and tearing the panels apart with a fierce, victorious grin. "Huh? No, when they're grabbed. Roughly." He frowns at Saul's worried expression. "I meant that they're…sensitive. Not…not that you've ever hurt me."

The DA sighs quietly, shoulders slumping minutely in his relief. He gives the blond a timid smile. "Alright, good."

"Yeah," Jesse paws at his nose again, worried that even _hinting_ that he _may_ like petting is too much. He shouldn't crave moments like those the way he does. "Anyway, I wouldn't have resorted to something so underhanded, but he _hurt you_," Jesse growls, bending the bill in half and digging into the scraps left of the hat with a tight fist, headache throbbing with as much as he's clenching his jaw.

Saul finally parks outside Drew's house. He places a hand over Jesse's tight fist and waits until the blond loosens his grip and looks to him. "I'm fine, kid."

Jesse's eyes drop from Saul's concerned eyes to the mark marring his neck.

"Really," Saul says, squeezing Jesse's hand before opening his door. "That's exactly what Drew's going to say, too. He'll be surprised I'm even bugging him with something so minor. So, I'm going to blame you for our visit, fair warning." He grins and steps out of the car.

Jesse follows quickly, dumping the destroyed hat into the footwell. He hustles around the nose of the car to meet Saul, still sure of his decision to make him come here despite the man's laissez-faire attitude. "Yeah, well, who knows where that bastard's knife's been? Why was that guy even in your office today?"

Saul shrugs. "He'd been sent to serve as a warning, hence the knife. Bustamante is pissed off at me. Apparently I gave an opposing crew information on potential buyers which Bustamante had planned to sell his product to. He's recently expanded into new territory and feels that, with me being an 'unpredictable factor,' with knowledge of the expansion, it must have been me to give away the news."

"They're mad about territory grids? How the fuck does that involve you?"

"The focus isn't the grids, kid, it's the buyers. They'd hooked some new fish but before they could reel them in, someone else had beat them to it. More of that blue meth, the one everyone's talking about? Their targeted buyers only want that, now that they've gotten a taste. Regardless, I didn't tell anyone shit, so I just need to find a way to explain that to Bustamante. He's insane but not quite as unreasonable or unpredictable as Tuco was – and I had my fair share of talking that guy toward reason, so I'm confident I can weasel out of this."

Jesse freezes, hand stretched out to steal another cherry from the tree in the front yard. He blinks and looks to Saul, who's still walking up to the front door obliviously. "This new territory, is it near the tracks? In, uhm, EDo? Near the construction?"

"Yeah," Saul answers. "They've got real estate there, literally. Couple buildings. So they've expanded their business there as well. Which is stupid, if my opinion means anything. You shouldn't shit where you eat."

Ice water travels down Jesse's spine and his stomach drops. That's exactly where he'd been bumming around a day ago, pushing the blue far from his usual routes to avoid el Caballero. The walk and the public transport had been worth it, at the time, to avoid any conflict. He'd had no idea he was bringing trouble straight to Saul's door. He swallows past the lump in his throat. "Shit, Saul, I—"

"Oi, Jesse! You better not be stealing any of those cherries! I have some already picked in here if you want 'em that bad. You're no better than the damn birds! Get your ass in here."

Jesse hastily drops his empty hand back to his side and rushes up the rest of the path to push past a laughing Saul, whose eyes are lit up in amusement; and a mock-angry Drew, who stands with his arms solidly crossed over his broad chest. Jesse ducks his head sheepishly and leads them into the house.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

"Yes it does," Drew argues, voice starting to take on a truly irritated tone.

"No, just give me those little ones. The butterfly ones? That'll work."

"God damn it, Saul, you stubborn idiot. I use those, in less than a week the wound will be more open than current _and _it will be _infected_, you dense bastard. You need a tetanus shot and you need stitches."

Jesse sighs, letting The Captain win the tug-of-war with the armadillo toy. The dog is quick to offer Jesse his end again, chest pressed low with his forepaws and rear wagging happily in a play bow. The blond grins and pets the dog for a second before he pushes himself up to his feet. He quickly makes his way down the hall to the bathroom, where the argument has degraded to a silent, angry staring contest.

Drew looks to him as he enters. "How did you even convince him to come here?"

Jesse grins and shrugs. "My argument didn't involve needles."

Drew smirks and shakes his head. They both turn back to Saul, who's sitting on the toilet seat with his arms crossed over his chest. Where Drew had looked intimidating in that position, Saul just looks like an adorable, petulant child.

"What's the problem, Saul?" Jesse asks. "I got stitches and I'm fine. Drew did an awesome job." He points to his own stitches, head bare because Drew had insisted on checking them after the second round of arguing with Saul had still gotten them nowhere. He'd also had his ribs prodded for breaks and his healing bruises checked again.

"Yeah, Saul, c'mon. Jesse was brave; you can be, too."

"No one can be as brave as him," Saul mumbles, eyes flicking to the open field kit, a series of prepped needles lining one edge of the case loaded with assorted medical supplies. One capped needle's been removed, set on the sink counter next to the suture package. They've both yet to be opened.

Jesse feels heat rush to his cheeks. He scrubs a hand across his face and grooms his hair and fur for a moment.

"Saul, seriously. Either I do the job here, or we take you to the clinic."

Saul sighs, eyeing the needle nervously. "Alright. Just… Just give me a minute."

"Alright, good. Progress. Take your jacket off; I need access to your shoulder." He glances back to the blond. "Close the door, would you, Jesse? We don't need The Captain trying to assist us." Drew moves forward to clean his hands in the sink again, briskly and efficiently before drying them. He snaps on a fresh pair of gloves before reaching for a package of alcohol wipes and swabs.

Jesse does as he's been asked, before turning back and wrinkling his nose at the twist of fear that spikes through the air. He watches as Saul stands to shuck his jacket and undo his tie, slipping it free of his collar to unbutton his shirt. He's wearing a white tank underneath – it allows for his arm to be completely bare after he slips out of his shirtsleeves. He does all this solemnly, muscles tense and movements mechanical as he drapes his clothes over the towel claw mounted on the wall. When he sits again on the toilet lid, he's still as granite; neck and jaw flexed tight and eyes shut as though he's waiting for his execution and not a minor medical procedure. The decision is nearly made for Jesse at the sight Saul makes. He slips past Drew and steps onto the edge of the tub, swinging one leg behind Saul to sit on the lid of the toilet tank behind the DA. With measured movements, he loops an arm around the man's chest to draw him backward and lifts his other hand to Saul's warm, bare shoulder. He brackets the man in with his knees.

The DA startles, eyes snapping open to look at Jesse from his upside-down tilt. His eyes are bright with fear until he truly registers Jesse.

Jesse offers a smile when he feels Saul relax. The man gradually presses more of his weight into Jesse, head pressing back into the blond's flat stomach.

Jesse wrinkles his nose again at the jolting smell of antiseptic. He presses closer to Saul when the man tenses as a wipe is dragged along his arm fleetingly.

"Small sting," Drew warns as he presses the needle into the DA's arm.

Saul makes a small, displeased noise and presses his face into Jesse's hoodie. The blond combs his fingers through Saul's hair, mimicking what the man's done for him more than once in hopes that it's comforting.

"Alright," Drew murmurs, fitting a band aid over the puncture site. "Head back a bit further, if you would," Drew asks.

Jesse isn't sure if he's speaking to him or Saul but he reaches down to cup Saul's jaw, tilting his head back further as he himself slouches against the wall to offer more space. Jesse leans forward a bit, just enough to press his forehead to Saul's.

The DA tenses again as another alcohol wipe is drawn across his injured neck and Jesse frowns. The blond makes an effort to crowd in against Saul further to offer comfort.

"Steady. Relax those neck muscles, Saul, or this isn't going to be pleasant."

Saul opens his mouth, likely to offer Drew a sarcastic retort but Drew unwittingly quiets him by opening the thread and needle package. The tearing sound is loud in the quiet room.

A curious snuffling sound follows and Jesse's ear flicks toward the door. "If The Captain barks, you're not gonna, like…"

"Stab me," the DA finishes worriedly. "Because I'd really appreciate you _not_ stabbing me," Saul mutters into Jesse's hoodie.

Drew grins. "I'm not gonna stab you. We experience loud noises and interruptions all the time in the clinic." He still turns toward the door and in a commanding tone says, "Captain, down. Quiet."

Jesse listens to the dog settle with a soft huff. The collar tags clink musically against the hardwood as the corgi lies down. Everything falls silent again.

"Good dog," Drew praises through the door before turning his attention to Saul again. "Alright. Let's get to work."

Saul tenses again in Jesse's hold and the blond presses close once more. He tilts Saul's head back, combing his fingers through the man's hair and nuzzling at his temple, nearly bent double. Saul relaxes again, face hidden in Jesse's hoodie. The blond warily watches as Drew nears Saul's wound. He presses his lips to Saul's temple in a pseudo-kiss, lips lax, as he purrs loudly, cradled around the man.

Saul remains relaxed even at the first bite of the needle. Drew makes quick work of stitching him up, drawing the needle through and out in smooth arcs.

Jesse focuses on Saul's steady breathing, on his scent – slowly losing all negative tints and returning to baseline – and the hand that's firmly latched onto Jesse's left calf. Jesse's purrs continue to rumble up from his chest contentedly. He's sure they're reverberating within Saul's skull but the DA hasn't made any protest and Jesse's pleased to serve as a distraction. Jesse's eyes slip shut and he nuzzles fondly at the man's temple, mindful of keeping the man's neck motionless and exposed.

Drew declares he's done all too soon, having finished the last suture and applying antiseptic gel. He tapes a small bandage over the wound and stands, slipping his gloves off before running the sink again. Jesse catches it all through sound alone, feeling far too serene to move from where he is, eyes closed and purring form wrapped warmly around Saul.

He only releases his hold when Saul's hand slides up from his calf to his knee as the man pushes himself upright.

As soon as Saul's back breaks contact, Jesse mourns the loss. The blond shakes it off, aggressively tamping down the temptation to reach for him again. He straightens up, popping a few vertebrae as he stretches.

Drew grins at the both of them, opening the door to reveal a patiently waiting corgi. "I'm ordering pizza. The usual, Saul? One veggie, one meat?"

Saul looks to him and nods slowly, dazedly.

"Jesse?"

He shrugs and nods. "Yeah, sounds good."

Drew grins again, stepping out into the hall, The Captain bounding after him excitedly, likely hoping for a treat after behaving so well.

Jesse slips out from behind Saul, using the tub ledge as a foothold before moving to leave the bathroom. He hopes to have a moment to gather himself, but Saul's measured footfalls step in line behind him with only a few seconds delay. He ponders for a breath at how comfortable he is, having Saul at his back. Were it anyone else, he'd feel far too defenseless.

Just as he clears the hallway into the living room, Saul catches him by the wrist in a loose grip. The blond looks to him questioningly, willingly turning when Saul directs it with a gentle tug.

Saul studies him with warm eyes, his gaze so focused that Jesse feels pinned beneath it. He hasn't even taken the time to get dressed; having followed immediately after the blond. The DA offers a soft smile before pulling Jesse closer by the waist, his hold firm but light. It wouldn't take much to break it.

Jesse feels his heart fluttering about the cage of his ribs like a thrilled bird. He anxiously awaits Saul's next move. He's been in this position before, but never at this end of it, and never before has he anticipated like this. His eyes flick down to Saul's lips, and that must be all the permission Saul needs to lean forward.

The man still pauses a breath away; they're too far apart to even brush lips, but they're close enough that the blond can feel the heat of the man's soft exhalations. Jesse's lips quirk up into a smirk. "A gentleman," he murmurs teasingly before closing that last immeasurable distance himself with an eager tilt forward.

Saul's warm mouth moving against his feels like the start of a new journey just as it feels like coming _home._ The world opens up for him; the galaxy he currently resides in _expands _with each teasing swipe of Saul's tongue. To prevent himself from being swept away in it all, he clings to Saul, brings him closer, splays his palms warmly across the man's spine between his shoulders and along the small of his back.

He can feel the man's smile as their lips meet between stolen breaths, and he can't help but to mirror it. When Saul finally pulls away, it is only to cup Jesse's face in his broad hand and to offer him another gentle smile. His lips are flushed, well used, and his eyes are bright. Jesse presses into the man's hand, offering a grin in return as his chest sparks to life in a rhythmic purr.


	12. Chapter 12

Saul unlocks his front door while Jesse rounds the house curiously. He'd spotted the garden as soon as they'd pulled up, and he's hoping to find more wrapping around the back. He doesn't hold out much hope that Saul may have pot growing in some secluded section, but you never know.

Jesse swipes a small tomato from the vine and bites into it happily on his way past. The garden doesn't extend this far, but the backyard isn't vacant. There's a locked shed, a small pile of discarded gardening tools, some giant planters filled with sickeningly sweet smelling flowers, and a small birdbath in which a tiny, blue bird is splashing around.

The bird hops onto the stone ledge of the bath, dripping and tilting its head curiously at Jesse. They both stare at each other for a long beat. Jesse refuses to give into baser instincts – such as pouncing to _catch the fluffy little bastard_, which would be very satisfying – and instead watches intently as the bird eventually resumes splashing around in the clear water.

"Jesse, a little help?"

Jesse turns at the sound of Saul's voice calling from the front yard. He makes his way back to the front of the house, snagging a couple of sugar snap peas from the garden. Just as he bites into one of the pods, Saul's disapproving sigh sounds from beside the car.

"The least you could do is help me with these case files _before_ you wipe out my entire return, kid."

Jesse watches as Saul drags a third case of files out the trunk of his car and onto the curb with the other two. He shrugs and looks back over his shoulder to the garden. "How come you don't have any fruit planted?" He asks, instead of engaging. As his eyes drift, he catches sight of something neon green peeking over the slant of Saul's pyramidal roof. He edges near the building in his curiosity.

"Because, the seeds didn't take to the soil," Saul replies distractedly, pulling out a _fourth_ case from the trunk. "I'm still learning."

"You've got a frisbee on your roof," Jesse informs him helpfully, having yet to assist with the boxes.

"Trust me, it's not for decoration. I've been meaning to borrow a ladder from the neighbor because I don't own one. I definitely want that stupid green—"

His words die off as Jesse runs a few steps forward before jumping in a long arc. He connects with the house with one shin dropped and lined against it, planting his other foot drawn high in alignment with his hips while lifting his hands to slap down on the roof – over the flimsy gutter to avoid dislodging it – in one smooth motion. Jesse pulls himself up with little effort, gravity forcing his muscles to strain only a little. He keeps his weight even as he steps onto the roof, quickly retrieving the bright toy and tossing it down to Saul.

The flying disc smacks into Saul's chest, the man having made no effort at all to catch it, staring dumbfounded at the blond standing on his roof.

Jesse laughs. "Man, you suck at this game."

Saul gives a start, and grins up at Jesse while he rubs absentmindedly at his chest where the toy caught him. He's barely opened his mouth to ask how Jesse will get down when the blond suddenly takes another two running steps and _leaps _off the roof, legs kicked up over his head in a flip.

Jesse keeps his spine curved, head tilted back as he flips, eyes on his landing zone. He lands on the balls of his feet after one rotation, all loose-jointed to absorb the impact uniformly. He springs forward with the momentum, rolling on the grass into a small tuck before he straightens again to stand an arm's length away from Saul.

"Jesus, kid," Saul gives a shaky laugh. "You're gonna give me a heart attack. You're trouble, aren't you?"

Jesse falters at those words. He knows he's trouble, he'd just hoped it'd take Saul longer to figure it out; that they'd have longer to continue whatever it is they've started before Saul ditched him as a lost cause. But Saul's smiling at him, and the blond belatedly realizes it was said in a fond tone, rather than an accusatory one, and it isn't but a second after he's realized that that Saul's drawing Jesse forward tenderly by the jaw into a kiss.

The DA is smiling when he drops his hand from Jesse's cheek. "Thanks, Jesse."

Pleased by his reward, Jesse crowds into the other man's space and steals another kiss, tilting his head up a touch to slot their mouths together. Saul keeps it fairly brief, but still manages to teasingly swipe his tongue across Jesse's lower lip, sparking a fire that has Jesse nosing against the DA's neck for a moment after they part. He finally focuses on the boxes of files at their feet. "How many of those did you load up?" While he'd been righting the fallen chairs in the lobby and gathering all the spoils from his victory, he'd protectively watched Saul make a couple trips to the car before they left the office for Drew's, but had no idea he'd been stashing away that many boxes.

"Just a few," Saul grumbles, eyeing the inside of the trunk sheepishly.

Jesse smirks, finally eating his last stolen pod he has clutched in his hand and rounding the car to stare into the trunk. "Yeah, just a few," he echoes, counting three more boxes in the car. "How'd you even manage that? The trunk is small…"

"It's bigger on the inside," Saul says with a dopey grin, looking to Jesse expectantly.

Jesse raises an eyebrow, the reference flying so far over his head that it's in the stratosphere.

"Aww, you're killing me, kid," Saul says with a smile and a disappointed shake of his head. "Fine, how about, I'm a Tetris master?"

The blond snorts. "Nerd," he says fondly, reaching into the trunk to drag the last of the boxes out.

Together they carry all seven up to the front door. It stands wide open, but Jesse is still hesitant to be the first to walk in. It seems kinda rude. So he waits for Saul to make the first trip over the threshold. Just as Jesse crosses that border, a steady, high-pitched hum assaults his ears. He freezes where he stands, eyes wide and ears pressing flat to his skull. His headache, which had been mostly dormant until this point, revs back to life at the piercing sound. A series of tremors travel up his spine at the consistent noise and he shakes himself. Saul seems completely oblivious to the horrible screeching hum, walking further into the house. The man's saying something, but Jesse can't focus.

"Saul," he chokes out. The blond drops the box in his arms, and only then does Saul notice something's wrong. Jesse staggers back onto the walkway outside, eyes still wide, stomach roiling with nausea.

The DA is next to him immediately, both hands clasped firmly over Jesse's shoulders. "What? What is it? Jesse, are you alright?"

Jesse shivers again. He clenches his teeth at the residual feeling of tinnitus and fixes his eyes on Saul. "Something's wrong." He glances back to the doorway. "With your house," he clarifies.

Saul stares at him, expression shifting subtly from concern to confusion. "What do you mean?"

"There's a, like, a, uhm… Okay, so, in one of the games we play, when you enter hostile territory, the game warns you with a sound. Or, y'know, like, when you step on a mine, after that distinct click, there's this whine. And you have a few seconds to get away, 'cause it's a game, but that whine, it's piercing, and…" Jesse shivers again. "Your house, it's got that, that warning sound."

Saul's brow furrows in confusion and he glances back at his house. "A high whine?" He leaves Jesse and turns back to go inside again.

Jesse's too shocked to act immediately, but when he snaps to awareness again, he makes a swipe for Saul. He misses, and lunges forward to paw at his suit jacket again, this time grabbing it in a tight fist. "No, dammit, I meant, _don't go in there_, because there is _something wrong_," he growls.

Saul brushes a thumb tenderly over Jesse's cheek, just under his bruise, and smiles. "It's alright, Jesse, I think I know what the sound is."

The man stubbornly walks back into the house again, and Jesse follows, muscles coiled in preparation to pull Saul out of danger when it inevitably strikes.

They make their way into the living room, Jesse focused too closely on Saul's broad shoulders to take in any of the décor. As they near the charcoal grey sofa, the sound increases and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. Jesse claps his hands over his ears, pressing his beanie tightly over them to muffle the noise. He cringes, resisting the urge to run, but only by brutal determination not to leave Saul's side. He watches Saul crouch to the outlet on the wall, unplugging the only device there with a solid tug. The screeching wail stops immediately.

When Saul turns around, his expectant look dips into sorrow at the sight Jesse makes. He reaches up and tugs one of Jesse's hands free. "Can you still hear it, the noise? Or was this it?" He lifts the small device up again – it resembles a nightlight without the bulb.

Jesse glares at it. "Think that was it," he admits. He drops his other hand, but his ears are still ringing slightly and they stay pinned to his head under his hat. "What the hell is it?"

"It's meant to keep bugs away. Spiders, scorpions, that sort of thing. It emits a frequency they're supposedly meant to hate. I've had mixed results – didn't know if it really worked at all, since I couldn't hear anything." He tosses it onto the sofa and reaches up, slipping the beanie off Jesse's head to hand it to the blond before gently running his fingers over his pinned ears, frowning mildly.

Jesse kneads contentedly at his beanie, stepping closer, eager for the gentle touch. The echoing buzz gradually fades and his headache recedes as Saul pets him, massaging his skull at the base of his ears, never dipping back as far as his stitches, and dragging his fingers through the fur of his ears. The blond closes his eyes, rumbling purr skating up his throat.

"Oh, sweet boy," Saul murmurs affectionately.

Jesse ducks his head, flushing at the endearment. Warmth blooms in his chest, and he's unable to hide the smile that spreads across his face. He buries his nose in the juncture between Saul's neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms around the older man and pulling him closer.

"Let's bring in the rest of my files, and we'll get dinner started."

The lawyer pauses as they pass a door near the entryway, opening it to reveal a bathroom. In a smooth arc, he tosses the insect repellant device into the trash bin. He gives one of Jesse's ears one more passing caress before he steps back out onto the stoop.

Jesse follows him out, smiling adoringly.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Turns out Saul had brought _all_ his files with him, due to the fear of having them lost to an 'accidental' fire at the office, which he feels could totally happen within the next couple days. He admitted he isn't positive that Bustamante would retaliate in that manner, but apparently something similar had happened before in the man's past, and he wasn't willing to take any risks with his work.

Jesse can't help feeling guilty over it. Given the chance, however, he wouldn't do anything differently. He's confident he'd still defend Saul in the same manner.

Still, he feels like too much an invader in Saul's home, after having caused so much trouble. He quickly ensures Saul's case files are adequately stored before making the decision to retreat to the garden again. The sun is nearly set, casting long shadows throughout the yard. He fills the frisbee with water from the tap next to the birdbath for lack of a better container and carefully carries it to the garden. He waters a few of the plants sparingly, clumsily trying to divide the water evenly, spilling just as much as he means to purposefully give.

He digs into the fresh soil for a few moments, just to feel the dirt between his fingers. He startles when an unexpected shadow suddenly falls over him, the wind carrying any alerting scents away from him. He turns with an excuse prepared on his tongue to explain his avoidance of the house interior to Saul, but freezes when he realizes it _isn't_ Saul behind him.

An older, bald man looms over him, hands concealed in his dark jacket. He has a sparsely filled in white beard and droopy eyes which are currently fixed on Jesse with an unimpressed glint.

"Get up, punk. Slowly."

"What?"

"You have three seconds," he says gruffly.

Jesse frowns, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He scents the air and catches a flash of aggression seconds before the man strikes out at him. Jesse springs back, slipping between the sunflowers and cucumbers before rolling beneath another wild grab. He freezes at the sight of the man drawing a gun from his jacket; the consequence for his hesitation is a solid pistol whipping across his cheek and jaw. Jesse grunts, immediately pushing the pain aside to engage wholeheartedly. He fleetingly considers the gun he'd earned earlier, but it's _inside the house _along with both of his knives. _Idiot._ Jesse hopes he'll get the chance to laugh about this later.

He doesn't have much time to berate himself before the man is aiming the gun to put it to its intended use. This bastard's gotta be one of Bustamante's men. The fact that he's on Saul's property is _unacceptable._

Jesse leaps forward with a wild growl. He ducks under the man's outstretched arm, delivering an uppercut with enough force to make the man's head crack back. He grabs hold of the gun, wrestling the man for it. It only takes a breath for Jesse to realize he's not going to win control over it, avoiding two fierce punches with slinking dips of his spine. He sidesteps the man, clutching the gun and twisting up and back to spin his opponent into an awkward position, his arm nearly choking himself with as high and tight Jesse has it pulled back.

Just as he man turns with him to free himself from their awkward dance, Jesse claws at the magazine release. He earns a jarring fist to his ribs and he winces, choking back a cry as the damaged bones protest with sharp twinges. The dropped magazine falls and Jesse uses an aimed kick with the broad front of his shoe to knock it up as though it were a hacky sack.

The man grabs him by the throat roughly, muttering expletives under his breath as he continually tries to free the gun from Jesse's grasp. Jesse aggressively drops head forward, jaw trapping the man's hand in place against his clavicles to prevent himself from being fully choked. He watches the clip fall from the corner of his eye, kicking it away this time, far across the yard just as he draws his fist back to release it into the man's gut, upward into his sternum.

The man grunts, dropping his hand from Jesse's neck and grabbing that arm instead, wrenching it up and back behind Jesse's spine into a hammerlock, high enough that it forces a whimper from the blond's throat. Jesse regretfully releases his hold on the gun, lifting up onto his toes to avoid having his shoulder torn from the socket. He moves with the unrelenting pressure, eventually having to show the man his back before he's shoved down onto his knees.

The press of the gun's barrel against the back of his head is unmistakable despite the barrier of his beanie. Jesse has to assume there's one bullet in the chamber, and that's all it would take. He releases a stilted breath, eyes locked on Saul's Cadillac parked along the curb. It looks silver now that the daylight has nearly been extinguished.

He's going to die. He's going to die here on his knees, and only moments after, Saul may be murdered as well. Jesse clenches his jaw, eyes stinging with angry, frustrated tears that he refuses to let fall.

He has to at least _try. _

He abruptly ducks forward and to the left, hands darting up to take hold of the man's wrist and yanking forward over the curve of his arched back. He successfully flips the man over, and before he's even made contact with the grass below, Jesse is tackling him, following him to the ground. He latches on to him from behind, wrapping around the bald gunman with locked ankles and pinned arms to twist him into a spinal lock. Resolutely ignoring his protesting ribs, he _wrenches_ his flexible spine in a degree that the other man's spine _won't allow_, and feels the moment his opponent surrenders, muscles anxiously tense and motionless to avoid causing damage.

Jesse frees the gun from the bastard's grip and tosses it just out of reach. He keeps his other arm tightly angled behind the man's head, a solid bar keeping the man's arms extended and useless.

"What the _hell_?" Saul demands from the doorway.

Jesse and his captive are both facing away from Saul when they simultaneously growl out, "_Stay inside, damn it_."

Both the blond and the bald man freeze at the shared words, a different kind of tension falling over them. This close, it's impossible for Jesse to miss the worried, protective flare that tints the man's previously violent scent. It reflects his own.

"Oh, sure, yeah, no, I'll just go inside then, and let you two continue to beat the shit out of each other," Saul grumbles between his teeth. Jesse can't see him, but he imagines he must look furious.

With one breath, Jesse releases his unforgiving hold, allowing the man's spine to return to a much more natural angle as he slips free. Jesse quickly finds his feet, standing between the man and the gun; Saul within his sightline. He watches his opponent arduously stand; pressing a hand to his lumbar while he glares at Jesse.

Jesse eyes him back just as coldly.

"Is that… Is that your _gun_? Were you going to _shoot Jesse_? What the fuck is wrong with you, Mike?" Saul all but cries out, finally stepping out of the doorway and crowding into Jesse's space.

The blond allows Saul to check him over, keeping an eye on _Mike_ over the concerned lawyer's shoulder. He isn't too concerned that the man will try anything; anyone who is protective over Saul is someone Jesse's willing to side with, and Saul _did _address him by name. They must have history. Still, it's not easy to forget the feeling of the gun pressed to his head as he'd been poised for execution. He flinches when Saul touches the renewed bruise on his face, the man's questioning fingers lighting across the line Mike's gun marked. He finally breaks eye contact with Mike to find Saul's eyes suspiciously glassy and pinched in sorrow and worry.

Jesse presses close, wrapping Saul up in his arms in a hold on the far other side of the spectrum of what he subjected Mike to a moment ago. He nuzzles against Saul's neck.

"You said you needed help in your phone call," Mike says in his gruff baritone, looking to explain, "Said people were after you. When I got here, I found…_Jesse_…slinking around your yard."

"I wasn't 'slinking,' _asshole,_" Jesse growls. Releasing Saul and stepping around him, prevented from continuing where he left off only by Saul grabbing him again in a desperate embrace.

"How many times am I going to have to witness you at gunpoint, kid?" He asks hoarsely.

The anger drains from Jesse and he gathers Saul in his arms again. Mike allows them a long, uninterrupted moment. It's eventually Saul who breaks the embrace and takes a step back from Jesse.

"Alright. Get inside, you idiots." He glances pointedly to the gunman and all but growls, "Don't forget your gun."


	13. Chapter 13

A rich, savory scent fills the house, and Jesse can't help but hungrily scenting the air when he walks in, taking quick strides into the kitchen as he listens to Saul and Mike bantering behind him. The door shuts from a room away, and two distinct sets of footfalls eventually trail after him, indicating that both Saul _and_ Mike are inside the house.

Under the bright track lighting, Jesse spots two cutting boards sitting on the dark granite counter of the island. One is surrounded by sliced and chopped vegetables and the other is covered with stray chunks of cooked beef. It only seems to be the remnants of Saul's efforts, though. The majority of the food is apparently in the oven, and Jesse presses up to the glass to peek inside at the large pot cooking away on the rack.

He hopes he doesn't wear out his welcome before he gets a chance to steal some of Saul's dinner. He didn't help make it – he was too busy hiding in the garden – but perhaps Saul won't cite that as a reason to send him home before it's done. His stomach growls at what he figures is some kind of stew and he glances up at the timer to find that ten minutes remain.

Jesse flinches when a warm palm lands lightly between his shoulder blades. He whips around, guiltily locking eyes with Saul.

"Sorry, sorry," Saul apologizes, hand slipping to the blond's shoulder instead. "Mike said he punched you earlier and you reacted like he'd knifed you. Which, unfortunately is a reaction Mike's seen first-hand," the DA grumbles as he slips his other hand between Jesse's open hoodie and shirt. The touch is warm and firm as Saul prods at his ribs again. He eventually drops his other hand and checks the ribs on the other side, mimicking what Drew did for him just a few hours prior. "I know your ribs have already taken a few hits today; let met check them."

Jesse relaxes under the man's touch, smiling fondly at the face of concentration Saul is wearing. The comforting smell of food and the feel of Saul's presence pressing close is enough to make his head buzz contentedly. He's safe now, here against Saul, and his body gradually releases the jittery tension it had been clinging to since Mike had first appeared.

He continues in a low murmur as he works, "Mike swears he wasn't able to do much to you, as agile as you are. He said you disarmed him in a way he's never experienced before, and I think he's a little pissed that you managed to finish that fight by pinning him." Saul briefly flashes him a grin. "Says he's gotta brush up if you were able to play with him like that, like you weren't in mortal danger."

"He's got a fucked up definition of 'play,'" Jesse mumbles. If he'd come off as cool and collected during that fight, it definitely wasn't the case; for a long stretch, he'd been convinced he was truly going to die out there on his knees. The last time he'd felt _that_ level of chilling fear had been when Tuco had aimed a live gun at him. Even that little bitch at the office earlier didn't manage the level of confidence Mike wielded while handling a gun.

His ribs are tender, no doubt bruised, but nothing grates or shifts uncomfortably under Saul's sure hands. Even if they are broken, hairline fractures won't keep him from too much; he's just gotta avoid twisting or stretching as much as he's used to. He's experienced a broken arm and leg before, and his ribs aren't quite at that level of pain. He knows without trying that a deep breath would be agony, however, so they do need to be babied.

The lawyer's hands are gentle, and Jesse finds himself leaning toward the other man, everything bleeding away except for the need to be closer. His mind settles into a peaceful, pleasurable space and he purrs, eyes sliding shut as he nuzzles against the man's neck. Jesse crowds him against the counter as the inquisitive hands continue to brush lightly over his damaged flanks, sparking pleasant shocks up his sides and spine.

Saul offers up a warm laugh, placing a broad palm over the nape of Jesse's neck, the other planted over the blond's sternum to keep him upright. And oh, that's _perfect_, to be bracketed by Saul's hands like that. Jesse feels the very last of the tension and fear drain from him in a rush of warmth throughout his muscles, fingertips tingling.

"C'mon, Jesse, let me see." The man tries tugging him back, aiming to lift the blond's shirt, but Jesse's pressed too close. "I don't really know what I'm feeling for, it all seems normal."

Jesse feels uncharacteristically affectionate and sleepy with Saul scruffing him, too comfortable to move back. He isn't sure what difference _seeing _his ribs will make – it's not like the bruises are going to spell out the problem in plain English. The blond rests his head on Saul's broad shoulder, nuzzling the soft material of the t-shirt Saul's changed into, melting under the kind hand cupped around his neck. When Saul flexes his palm and rubs his thumb against Jesse's throat, the blond's knees threaten to give out. He places more of his weight against the DA as his slack muscles fail to keep him vertical under their own strength. He slips deeper, further into that _good, calm_ space, chest vibrating against Saul's.

"Jesse," Saul murmurs. He tugs lightly at Jesse's neck again, just enough to pull his head back to look at him.

Jesse struggles for a beat to blink his eyes open. He barely manages to lift his eyelids to half mast dazedly, looking up to Saul's warm expression. The DA smiles at him, all soft edges.

Saul brushes his lips against Jesse's fleetingly, a tender kiss before he murmurs, "C'mon, sweetheart, let me see."

Jesse blinks at him, warmth blooming in his chest. He drops his gaze to Saul's insistent hand and leans back just enough to allow his shirt to be lifted. He's seen the bruises already, and he's sure they don't look much better than they did earlier today, but he still straightens in surprise at Saul's sharp gasp. He tries to free his mind from the hazy place Saul put it.

He looks down over his rucked up shirt, unsurprised at the sight that greets him; dark splashes of purple and black snaking across his chest. He watches Saul lay a trembling hand over one large bruise, fingers trailing over protruding ribs.

"Kid," he murmurs hoarsely. "Jesus, this looks painful." His touch is so light it's ticklish as he traces a bruise. He clears his throat and asks solemnly, "Have you been eating? I mean, I've seen you eat, but… When we're not together, do you eat?"

Jesse falters. "Uhm… Yeah? Sometimes I forget but—"

"This isn't an _issue_, is it?" Saul interrupts, fingers splayed in the dips between sharp ribs. "You don't _avoid_ food, do you?"

The blond scoffs, looking up to Saul. "_What_? No, I don't have a _problem, _I just-I don't think about it, I guess, and-and maybe miss a few meals," he sputters.

"Is it a money concern, then? You should be able to afford food, kid," the man says, glowering, knowing just enough of Jesse's lifestyle to know he has money.

"Ah, yeah, I've, uhm, been trying to save up for something," Jesse offers weakly, scratching at the back of his neck, where all traces of Saul's warmth have unfortunately vanished.

With a sad sigh, Saul steps back out of Jesse's space and turns toward the counter. Jesse feels his absence like a physical blow, and he staggers.

"Sorry," Jesse blurts out, anxious in the face of Saul's silence. The man keeps his back to him as he works with something on the counter. "Honestly, I just forget sometimes." Jesse starts to move toward the other man, afraid that he's truly made him mad, but hesitates just long enough for Saul to turn around again.

The DA regards him with a tight expression. "I believe you kid, but nothing is worth more than your health." He presses a loaded plate into his bared chest.

Jesse glances at the hearty slices of meat, carrots and potatoes, mouth flooding and stomach growling. Without any prompting he begins to eat, purrs traveling up his throat between bites of the warm food. He uses his hands, too impatient to wait for Saul to finish handing him a fork.

Saul gathers him into his arms, and Jesse presses close. The DA runs his hand up the blond's side again, palm trailing across his bare ribs, and places a small kiss to Jesse's temple while he eats eagerly. The offering is small, as the bulk of the meal is currently in the oven, so it isn't long before Jesse's licking his fingers clean.

"Is this a bad time?"

Jesse and Saul both startle at the gruff voice. They turn to look at Mike. The man is watching them from the kitchen entryway, features lifted in amusement.

"I can always come back later."

Jesse tenses, ready to pull out of Saul's grasp, flushing hotly in embarrassment at being caught in such a position. He's stopped by Saul boldly placing another kiss to his temple, soothing him with another sweep of his palm as he drags his shirt back down into place. He smoothes the material with a second sweep and finally releases Jesse.

"Have a seat, Mike. You're not slipping off the hook that easily."

"I still don't think I'm the one in the red, here," he grumbles. "By my count, _you_ owe _me_ a favor."

Snorting, Saul turns to the oven once it signals its completion with a series of pointed beeps. "Can't you just be satisfied to help a friend, Mike?" he asks as he turns the oven off.

The bald man grumbles nonverbally from the table.

Smirking, Saul nudges Jesse lightly. "Be a good boy and set the table, Jesse?"

Ducking his head, Jesse nods. He follows Saul's subtle indications to find the correct drawer for silverware and the cupboard for dishes while Saul retrieves pot holders.

"These, here, Jesse." Saul indicates the shallow ceramic bowls with a tap of his finger before he moves to the oven. "And spoons, if you would," he adds over his shoulder.

They both make their way to the table, carrying separate burdens and quickly settling down to dinner. The simple domesticity of it all makes Jesse dare to hope for a future like this.

Jesse watches eagerly as Saul dishes out hearty servings of sheperd's pie. The blond nearly has his spoon to his mouth when both Saul and Mike make sharp sounds of protest.

"That _just_ came out of the oven," Mike tells him sternly.

"Give it a minute, kid," Saul adds in agreement.

Frowning mildly, Jesse puts his spoon down. Once he's sure Jesse isn't going to burn the hell out of himself, Saul stands to retrieve glasses of water. Jesse scrambles up to help.

He hardly gives the food another handful of minutes to cool before he's eagerly eating, ignoring Saul's sigh and Mike's low chuckle. The meat is so tender is falls apart in Jesse's mouth, and the rich gravy is heavily seasoned and soaked into the vegetables. He makes sure to cover the mashed potatoes with it liberally. The carrots, peas and onions, Jesse imagines are from Saul's garden, because they're fresh even after their time in the oven; everything remains true to its unique taste despite cooking together. The meal soothes something in Jesse that he didn't know was hurting, and he's nearly halfway through his serving before anyone even begins talking.

"So, you said someone was after you? I take it they're a little scarier than your typical clients if you're calling me."

Saul grins. "Yeah, if it isn't too much trouble, I was hoping you'd be able to look into someone for me."

Mike simply raises an eyebrow in encouragement to continue as he himself eats, though far less enthusiastically than Jesse.

"Bustamante," Saul says, and though it's a common surname, it must be known well-enough in this context because Mike hesitates with his next spoonful held up mid-motion.

"That's quite the favor, Saul."

"Yeah, well, until recently, he and I haven't had reason to cross paths. At least not since his cousin was running around."

Jesse finishes off his bowl and glances longingly to the casserole dish from the oven still cooling in the center of the table. Saul dishes him up a second serving after a single glance at the blond, and Jesse immediately digs into that portion as well.

"That bastard Tuco, causing trouble even from _beyond_ the grave," Mike agrees darkly.

Jesse hums his agreement as well, taking another bite from his spoon.

Mike sighs and asks, "So what are you asking from me?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to have you keep nearby, as, well, maybe a bodyguard of sorts? I'll pay you, of course. It would also help to know what Bustamante is up to, so if you could find a way in…"

"I can try, but with these types, there's never any guarantee as to how close I can get. Sometimes they're too paranoid. I may be able to sell my services as a 'bodyguard' to _him_, though. Or at the very least, a driver; those bastards typically feel it makes them seem more important if they've got drivers. With any luck, that would get me close enough to know what he's up to. What are you hoping to learn?"

"Just odds and ends," Saul responds without truly responding.

Mike stares at him, clearly unimpressed. "You just want to know how he takes his coffee?"

Smirking, Saul finally allows, "Well, sure, we all want to know that. And perhaps why he feels I'm an enemy."

"Why are you even on his radar? What did you do to him?"

Casually, Saul responds, "Nothing. Like you said, sometimes they're just paranoid." He takes a drink of water to further delay. "As hard as I try, not everyone wants to be my friend, Mike."

Mike snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Fine, don't tell me. But I'm not gonna stick my neck out for you without all the facts, Saul. If it's important, and I'm sure it is, the smart thing to do would be to include me on everything."

Jesse's blinks are getting lengthier the longer dinner carries on. The food in his belly has him feeling warm and sleepy. He yawns widely, knuckling the tears from his eye to find Saul nudging a _third_ serving toward him.

"Think you can eat one more bowl, Jesse?" Saul asks warmly. He smiles when Jesse picks up his spoon again and digs into the layer of mashed potatoes. The DA trails his fingertips down Jesse's spine, prompting an endearing smile from the blond.

"Don't know why you'd need me anyway, when you've already got your bodyguard there," Mike says, indicating Jesse with a flick of his jaw. "If he gives them half the trouble he gave me outside earlier, you won't have to deal with these jokers much longer." Mike looks pointedly at Jesse and asks, "What's Saul paying you, kid?"

"Uhm… Nothing? I'm not—"

"Room and board, then? Seems like a fair enough exchange for this kind of work.

"What? No, I—"

This time, it's Saul that interrupts. His voice is incredulous when he says, "Room and board? Mike, you're reading into it too much."

"Just figured it would be a good deal for a street punk."

"Street punk," Jesse echoes in a growl. His hackles rise as he senses the trap he's just unwittingly stepped into as the man across the table eyes him critically.

"You're homeless, aren't you? Or you at least spend a lot of time out on the streets. You've got that look, of a stray that's been ungoverned too long."

Is that what he is now? A stray pretending at being a housecat? He glares at Mike to cover the shame he feels.

Before he can open his mouth to retort, Saul asks timidly from beside him, "Is that true, Jesse? Are you currently homeless?"

Jesse falters, when he meets Saul's concerned gaze. He opens his mouth but eventually shuts it for lack of a good answer.

"Is that why you didn't have me drop you off at a proper house the other day?"

Saul sounds _sad_ now, and Jesse flicks his gaze away to avoid being trapped in the man's stare. He glares again at Mike and growls out, "What are you, a _cop_? You smell like one." The redirect is weak, at best, and he knows it. He fears the conversation is too far out of his control to find his footing again.

His accusation merely gets a shrug from Mike. "An ex one, yeah. That's where I learned tricks like checking pockets when I've got a perp in an arm lock." He tosses a bag of blue meth on the table and meets Jesse's gaze unflinchingly.

Jesse gives himself away without thinking as he pats down his pocket to find it empty. His mind blanks in his panic – everything is falling apart. He's nearly tempted to grab the bag and run before Saul can angrily kick him out, before Mike can round the table to beat answers out of him.

"You don't seem to be using this stuff, at least not right now. So you must be networking, and whether you realize it or not, Bustamante targets punks like you, assuming you're not already working for that bastard. I'm just trying to figure out whether or not Saul is in any danger in your company. Saul's a sucker for sweet smiles, and I'm not going to have him getting shot in the back because you flashed your pretty eyes at him under orders of Bustamante."

Jesse feels like he's been dunked in ice water. He's no longer drowsy; the food in his belly feels like a stone weighing him down. To think that an outsider, an _ex-cop_ would assume Jesse was trying to get into Saul's pants on someone else's orders is sickening. "Fuck, wait, no, just stop," he growls. He can hear Saul's uneven breath beside him and knows the man is actually considering all the poison Mike is spouting. He doesn't want Saul do doubt him, to think that he's been _tricked_ by him. "Fine, I'm homeless," he admits with a flash of his teeth at Mike. "It's temporary – I'm working on it. But I would _never_ hurt Saul." He looks to the named man pleadingly and says, "This isn't fake, _I'm _not fake. I haven't _lied_ to you."

"Not directly, but by omission, apparently," Mike cuts in gruffly.

"Fuck you," Jesse spits out. "I'm _not with Bustamante_, asshole!" He turns to Saul again, back to pleading. "I'm _not_ with Bustamante," he swears. "I didn't even know the guy existed until you told me in your office. The mistake with the territory grids, that was me, but only because I don't _know anything_ about that bastard. I was going to tell you, at Drew's, I swear. I was way outta my usual routes because I was trying to avoid _el Caballero_. Jesse shivers at the memory again. "I'm a seller," he indicates the damning evidence on the table. "But I didn't wanna run into el Caballero again, I… I couldn't-I _can't_ get rid of the feeling of him on top of me and—" Jesse halts to swallow down a wave of nausea. He flinches back from the hand Saul suddenly lifts.

Saul's hand isn't raised in anger, Jesse slowly realizes. It's still lifted to grab for him, but unmoving as Saul reads him for any negativity to the thought of being touched. And how Jesse _craves_ it, but he knows things are too far gone now.

"_Fuck_," he chokes out, eyes stinging. "It's all ruined, isn't it? You already had trouble, taking a risk on me, and now how are you ever gonna look at me without _doubting_, with _that_ kinda logic," he gestures harshly at Mike who sits passively watching the exchange, "hanging over your head? Thinking I'm some hired whore, or a snitch." He drags a hand down his face, breath hitching on a sob he's too tired to reign back. From the moment he ducked into Saul's car, it seems like a planned series of events through the twisted lens Mike's provided. "I know I'm trouble. I never wanted to drag you into a mess like this. I told you, you're _different_, and…I couldn't stay away… But none of this was planned, Saul, it wasn't some scheme."

He shoots to his feet, sparing Saul one last longing look, throat closing tight with the tears that sting his eyes. He tugs aggressively at one of his ears beneath his beanie, frustrated and unsteady but knowing he deserves punishment for having kept so much from Saul for so long. And Saul, who knows better, reaches up a placating hand to stop him from hurting himself but the blond slinks just out of reach. He shouldn't have risked Saul at all, should have stayed gone the very first time he'd left the man's office. He should be used to having things taken from him by now, but this wound bleeds just as abundantly as any of the others, this loss ranking up with that of Aunt Ginny.

"_Sorry_. I'm _sorry,_ Saul," he whimpers, eyes locked with the stunned man. With one last, stuttering breath, Jesse leaves the kitchen and escapes through the front door.


	14. Chapter 14

Jesse stumbles outside, nearly falling when he trips over his own awkward, unsure feet. He catches himself in time – his quick reflexes rarely let him down – and stands motionless on the stoop while the door shuts with a bang of finality behind him. He struggles to feel something, _anything_, other than the unsettling numbness that claws at him. He grasps for anger, because it's his most familiar companion, but he finds that he isn't strong enough to be pissed off at Mike for revealing him. The anger flares inward at his own idiocy and isn't enough to overcome his sorrow, which demands _everything _he has to give.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He tugs at both ears again, twisting the delicate triangles through his beanie. The sharp sparks of pain ground him, keeps his feet on the earth despite how _hollow_ and insubstantial he feels. Any slight breeze could snatch him away. How could he have thought getting involved with Saul would work at all? He's known the guy for a week and it's brought nothing but trouble to the lawyer's door and exposed all of Jesse's flaws. He feels carved out, _useless_, and defeated. His chest is encased in an iron band; he struggles with shallow breaths that choke him, sniffing pitifully in the dark as the sense of loss settles over his shoulders like a familiar hoodie. If only he'd kept his distance. But Saul had managed to get past Jesse's chainmail from their very first interaction; Jesse's never experienced something so easy, novel, and _frightening_ as his attachment to Saul. He'd been irrevocably drawn in to Saul's addicting presence, his scent, his _smile_. To think that he ever had a chance with someone as caring and smart as Saul is laughable, now that he's on the other side of the door.

There are very few streetlights – Saul lives in one of the newly developed 'natural' neighborhoods that try to avoid light pollution. But the Cadillac catches the glint of the moonlight, watery and distorted through the tears Jesse keeps angrily scrubbing away with the sleeve of his hoodie. He shuffles toward it, eyesight gradually switching mode of intake to help him see broad outlines and deep shadows in the dark. Everything is still. The night holds its silence in respect of Jesse's mourning.

He doesn't think he's going to make it back to the Crystal Ship from here. He still feels lethargic from dinner and utterly weakened after having everything ripped away from him. He feels like an exposed nerve; all of his secrets laid bare. The iron band around his chest _constricts_ on a sob and he knows for damn sure the ache can't be attributed to his bruised ribs. He still feels the need to apologize to Saul, but he doesn't know how to be any more sincere, doesn't know how to make Saul see that everything's a misunderstanding. He's exhausted, and all he really wants to do is curl up and sleep – the long walk ahead of him is going to be endless. He may actually have to sleep _on the streets _tonight, and the thought is discouraging. For all that he's been through, it hasn't quite come to that yet. But maybe he can find a small, safe place to hide for awhile, just until tomorrow. He can call Badger up, then. He'll wait for as long as it takes for Saul to call him – if he's lucky enough to receive a call from the DA in the first place – and explain again. As much as it pains him, Jesse doesn't plan on intruding in the DA's life without explicit welcome. He doesn't want to burden the man any more than he already has.

Jesse's hardly cleared the end of the walkway onto the street, a few feet beyond the car, out into the quiet night of Saul's neighborhood, when the front door is yanked open behind him. He scrubs his sleeve across his eyes again; he's not going to be caught crying like a little bitch by Mike. That isn't how he wants to start a second fight with the ex-cop. Even _running away_ the way he is, is likely more ammo for that bald bastard – it makes him look guilty of everything Mike accused him of. With his luck, the bald bastard is coming out here to pull a uhm, what's it called, _citizen's arrest_ for possession with intent to sell because cop or ex-cop, the guy still has that hard-ass attitude. If it comes down to it, Jesse knows he can outrun the guy.

He turns to face him, but flinches back from the highlighted movement of outstretched arms rushing up to greet him from the dark, throwing his own hands up defensively, palms out and open.

The other man doesn't hesitate, grabbing Jesse and pulling him in close, pinning his arms where they are in a powerful bear hug.

It takes a tense second, but Jesse recognizes Saul's embrace, the man's scent slow in reaching him, smothered as it is by his stuffy nose. The other man's grip is so tight it makes his ribs ache, but Jesse doesn't dare stop him.

"_Thank god_," Saul croaks out, arms tightening briefly.

Jesse shamefully burrows into the other man, making himself small against the DA's chest as he squeezes all he can from what he assumes will be his last hug from him. He ducks his head to hide his face in Saul's shirt, fresh tears bleeding into the soft cotton. The lawyer's heart is racing, and the sound snaps Jesse's sore ears to rigid attention.

"S-sorry," he hiccups. "_Please_, I didn't lie, S-Saul. I'm _sorry_."

The other man shushes him warmly, his hold slightly less frantic as he wraps one arm solidly across his back, cupping his other hand over Jesse's nape. "It's alright, Jesse, I've got you," he soothes in a low voice, the sound of which is suspiciously gravelly and choked.

The relief is enough to make Jesse _sway_, Saul's hold shifting to keep him upright. The man tucks his head against Jesse's, pressing a brief kiss to Jesse's temple. "I know you didn't lie, at least not about Bustamante. You already explained your connection with Tuco," he reminds him, "in my office that first night. Besides, I know what you look like when you lie, kid."

The blond stiffens in the older man's arms. He holds his breath for a moment, waiting for Saul to shine a light on him. He isn't sure that he's lied to him, at least not about something that would affect the DA. But he could be wrong; it's getting harder to keep all of his lies straight now that his life's warped into a mockery of what it once was.

"You get this little crease between your eyes," Saul murmurs, thumbing the small spot visible just under the rim of his beanie between his eyebrows, coaxing Jesse out of his hiding spot against his chest. "And here," he drags the pad of his finger at the corners of Jesse's mouth. "You get this little frown, like you don't like it. You tense up, kid, and you can't maintain eye-contact. I've seen it from you before, but wrote it off as nerves, or not wanting to be a burden – which you _never could be, _Jesse, despite what I'm sure you keep telling yourself. I saw it when I asked you if you wanted a Gatorade, and you said yes. When I asked you to point out your house as I tried to drive you _home_ and you gave me a _random street_ name instead." Saul tightens his grip momentarily, clinging to Jesse. "Every time I ask you if your headache needs tending to, and you tell me no, but I can clearly see that you're _hurting_."

Saul pauses for a few breaths, holding Jesse close and the man's scent is _intoxicating_. It's warm, and concerned, and _affectionate_, and it's been _so long_ since Jesse's smelled that from anyone directed solely at him. It's dizzying in its purity, teasing at his nose and making his thoughts somnolent. He wants _more_ of it; wants to wrap himself up in Saul. He listens to the steadily slowing thump of Saul's heartbeat, pressing as close as he can possibly get to the DA. He purrs softly, timorously, hanging onto every word Saul speaks, ears eagerly tracking the man's calm breaths.

"I know what you look like when you lie, Jesse," the man reiterates softly. "Especially now that I know what I'm looking for. You're an awful liar, honestly; and I know my way around liars." Saul chuckles lowly and it makes Jesse clutch at his shirt with tight fists in an attempt to get _closer_, anxious tension settling at the man's laugh.

"Around me, you're rarely anything but open and selfless," he continues in a low murmur. "You're kind and clever and brave, and it may be selfish, but I want to keep you _close_, Jesse. I'll admit, I'm a selfish man."

Jesse blushes hotly at the praise, burying his face in Saul's neck. The words work to chase away the cold, empty feeling that had plagued him. He goes willingly when Saul bodily manhandles him back toward the house.

Saul makes a show of closing the door behind them, one arm still securely wrapped around Jesse. "It should also be noted that you left _everything_ behind – all of your weapons and the bag Mike lifted from you. That also helps your case, and Mike will see that. I want you to know that Mike's words don't hold any weight with me – he was only trying to shake you up in case there truly was an issue he needed to sniff out. He's only looking out for me, because that's what I called him over for. But I won't have him chasing you off, Jesse, especially now that I know you're not going _home_ at night." The man frowns, and his grip is firm as he leads him to the sofa. Under his breath, he mutters mostly to himself, "Jesus, where have I been sending you away to…?"

Saul gets him settled. A wire-frame lamp sits on the end table and Saul flicks it on to further lighten the room. Jesse blinks rapidly for a few seconds, eyes adjusting once more. He looks up to the other man, noting Saul's teary eyes but disarmingly open smile. Saul gives him time, projecting his movements clearly for Jesse, reaching up to remove the blond's beanie when he makes no objection.

"Let me see your ear, sweetheart. I saw you abusing it earlier. I never want to see you doing that again, alright?"

Jesse ducks his head, and allows the man to manipulate his tender ears. There isn't anything visually wrong, and Jesse doesn't flinch despite the mild ache, so Saul is satisfied fairly easily. He still pets both for a long moment, warm hands carefully stroking the muscles until they're loose and relaxed. He concludes by guiding Jesse up by the chin with the crook of his finger, placing a fond kiss to the crown of Jesse's head, and then lower, over his lips. The lawyer sweeps his thumbs gently across the blond's cheeks, cleaning his face gently of any remaining tears. The very last of the hollow cavern of Jesse's chest is once again _overflowing_ with Saul. He can't believe he was willing to walk away from this.

Jesse sags toward Saul, but halts midway when he hears Mike entering the room, his ear swiftly swiveling to catch the sound. He looks up to the man, eyes wide and unsure as he takes in the ex-cop's wide stance.

"Oh, hell," Mike grumbles, eyes fixing on Jesse's nervously tilted ears and red-rimmed eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Jesse.

Jesse pulls back from Saul, unwilling to prompt a repeat of what happened in the kitchen by being too open around the lawyer – Mike's current focus for protection. He watches Mike apprehensively, hoping he hasn't encouraged the gunman to beat the hell out of him either physically or verbally, but Mike is a stone wall. He drops his gaze to the floor for a breath to break the ex-cop's intense stare. He tenses with shallow breaths when Mike takes a step toward him from across the room, eyes flicking up worriedly as the man advances.

Laughing softly, Saul gathers Jesse into his arms again, tucking him close and tight. He presses his lips to the space between his ears, and Jesse can feel his smile there.

"You don't realize it, kid, but you're guilting the hell out of Mike, and as adorable as you are, you're going to awaken his inner protective beast. Trust me, you don't want that – he's a pushover for his granddaughter, but I've seen him at her defense, as well, and he's terrifying. At this rate, if I make you the wrong kind of pancakes tomorrow, Mike will give me a black eye."

Jesse doesn't miss the implication that pancakes tomorrow means he's allowed to stay _tonight_. He noses affectionately at Saul's neck for a moment as the man laughs again, his purr rising to match the vibration in Saul's throat beneath the stark white bandage. He only pulls away from the DA when he senses Mike crouching next to him in front of the sofa. He glances to the man again, faltering at the expression he wears: Mike looks like he just drank spoiled milk.

"Listen, Jesse. I'm sorry," he says gruffly, looking intently at the blond. He still looks ill, expression twisted in distress and guilt. Jesse nods shakily. "Yeah, yeah it's okay."

"No, it's not," the man returns sharply, loud with a tight frown. He sighs at Jesse's minute flinch back toward Saul. "It's not alright," he says in a softer tone, "I pushed too hard. I was interrogating you like a perp, digging deep after my observations, striking where I knew you were vulnerable, where I knew it would _hurt_, and you're obviously not the bad guy, kid. Your relationship with this idiot," he gestures toward Saul who makes an exaggeratedly affronted noise, "should never be used as a weapon against you, nor should your living situation. I'm sorry. Saul told me everything, well, as much as he _could_ before he ran after you. Anyone willing to risk their life for Saul is alright with me."

Jesse flashes him a grin, tense shoulders relaxing. "Yo, I thought the same about you, man."

Clearing his throat, Saul mutters, "Alright, alright. I'm not some damsel in distress."

But Jesse can see that the man's cheeks are tinted red and he can't help but nose at the DA's jaw fondly, just below the man's ear. He's not sure how Mike would take outright PDA, so he refrains from kissing Saul like he wants to; he doesn't want to be accused of acting like a whore.

Mike offers his hand and Jesse mirrors him, one rough palm meeting another. Jesse makes sure to keep his grip firm but not aggressive; he doesn't want Mike to think he's challenging him.

The ex-cop seems satisfied with his handshake, standing to his full height again with a couple pops from his knees. "Alright, I'm heading out. Saul, I'll report as soon as I make progress in regards to your favor." The man drags his eyes to Jesse and nods at the blond in acknowledgement. "Take care of 'im, _bodyguard_," he says with a mildly amused smirk and a tilt of his head toward Saul.

Jesse salutes him at the order, just to be an asshole, and grins when it earns him a huff of laugher and head shake from Mike. He watches the gunman leave, pressing back into Saul when the man scratches lightly at his scalp once the door shuts again.

"Alright, kid," Saul murmurs, "time for bed."

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse steps out of the shower, grateful that the mirror is too fogged up for him to see himself again. It's better this way. He's just a series of blurs; he looks like a palette knife painting. The first glimpse he'd caught of himself had been shocking. How Saul can stomach kissing him when he looks like a punching bag is beyond Jesse, but he's grateful; likes the man even more for it, to be able to see beyond all those flaws. He smells of Saul's shampoo and soap, and he spares a moment to bury his face in the plush black bath towel to hide his face at the spark of warmth that lights in his chest.

He slips on one of Saul's shirts, heather grey, soft and worn with age. In bold letters along the front it reads University of American Samoa in dark blue. He drapes the towel over his shoulders to catch stray drops of water, still wary of scrubbing his hair dry with the stitches along the back of his head. He pulls on the pair of checkered sleep pants Saul's loaned him and flicks the bathroom fan on to draw out all the steam his shower caused. He kicks his dirty clothes to the corner, unsure what else to do with them. He's emptied his pockets – the bundles of cash and his phone are scattered along the sink counter. He flicks the light off, standing in the halo of faint moonlight from the skylight above him. He stares up through that window for a breath, listening to the sound of Saul moving about the bedroom through the wall.

He leaves the humid warmth of the bathroom and stands just outside Saul's doorway, barefoot on the tan carpet in the hall. He watches Saul turn the bed down, tossing a few stray books onto his nightstand. The bookshelf in the corner doesn't have any room to spare – every shelf has books organized vertically, and on top of those, _more_ books stacked horizontally. There are a few random posters on the walls, including Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin, and Jesse smirks fondly. There are also postcards pinned up, from places Jesse assumes the man's actually been. Jesse hasn't stepped foot outside New Mexico his whole life.

A couple ties hang loosely from the post of his headboard and the hamper in the corner has clothes piled in it and a rack arched above it where a few – presumably dirty – suits hang. In the closet, there's a wider selection of suits hanging, a couple pairs of shoes placed neatly beneath. Next to his polished oxfords are Jesse's scuffed up DC shoes. He stares at that image for a moment, some part of him inexplicably satisfied by it.

Saul glances up at him, at the feeling of Jesse watching him. "You're not a vampire, are you, kid?" he asks teasingly. "You're welcome to come in."

Jesse steps into the room, eagerly moving into Saul's space when the man subtly opens his arms for him. He hasn't yet asked for any of the attention Saul gives him, but the man is very free with his affection and tactile enough to _nearly_ sate the cravings for closeness Jesse consistently has where Saul is concerned. The blond melts against Saul, drowsy with the way the DA strokes across his back and sides with broad palms. Saul lifts the towel from his shoulders and carefully dries his hair, patting lightly near the suture site.

"Make yourself at home, kid. Get anything you'd like to eat from the kitchen. Only television is in the living room, but I've got books in here," he says, gesturing needlessly to the bookshelf.

"Yo, they all boring lawyer books? Can't figure you as the comic book type," he says teasingly, though he's a little hopeful the guy's got something interesting to read. He isn't hungry, not after Saul insisted he eat as much as he could already, and the thought of a screen blaring at him makes his head pound.

"_Actually_…" Saul releases Jesse, draping the towel over his own shoulder as he turns to the bookcase. "I've always been a fan of Batman. This is a new release," he offers a stack of issues, 'Battle for the Cowl' printed across the front of the topmost comic. "Got some classics for Batman, too. Spiderman, Iron Man. Got a few collections of The Shadow, if you're into detective mysteries. They're kinda cheesy, but—" he cuts off when Jesse abruptly leans into him, purring loudly, eyeing Saul's collection. He laughs, resting a hand over the blond's shoulder. "Yeah? Good?"

"Awesome," Jesse assures him. "You get better with each passing second, Saul. Unbelievable." He nuzzles lightly at the man's neck, mindful of his bandaged stitches and moves to look closer at the shelves.

Jesse can hear the man's smile when he says, "Alright, I'm gonna shower, kid." He gathers an armful of clothes from the dresser. Make yourself at home," he repeats before disappearing into the bathroom.

Jesse takes an edge of the bed, deciding to read the comics Saul gave him first. He's nearly through issue one when he lies down on his side, facing the door, arms raised before him to continue reading. The bed is soft, and it smells like Saul, more so than just the soap Jesse's got over his skin. He finds himself having to go back a few panels occasionally, as his mind slowly drifts, muscles relaxing into the sheets. He budges up a bit to rest his head on the pillow, finding he has to go back a full page to catch up with the story again…

Jesse doesn't realize he's falling asleep until Saul is suddenly waking him, though the man is clearly trying not to. The DA is gently easing the comic from his hand, shushing the blond when he stirs.

Jesse blinks lethargically. He moves to sit up, mumbling an apology; he didn't mean to fall asleep on the man's bed. He knows it's the only bed in Saul's house – the spare room has been converted into an office – but the sofa will do just as well.

Saul meets him halfway, pressing his lips to Jesse's chastely. He shushes him again, easing Jesse back onto the mattress and turning the light off. The curtains are open just enough to allow a sliver of moonlight into the room.

"Go to sleep, Jesse," Saul murmurs lowly from above Jesse's head, as he tucks the blond close, easing him away from the edge.

Nuzzling into the hollow of Saul's neck, Jesse scents him contentedly and lets his heavy eyes slip shut again. The bandage is missing from atop Saul's stitches and Jesse traces the surrounding skin lightly with a finger. It earns him a kiss to the crown of his head and he relaxes against the warmth of the DA's body. The AC kicks on and Saul pulls a light sheet over them, leaving the thicker blanket at their feet.

They're close enough to share the same pillow, so the spare soon finds its place against Jesse's back, drawn close to his busted ribs by Saul's sure hand. Jesse makes a small, pleased noise, enclosed by the forgiving cushion behind him and the firm line of Saul's body. His mind settles into that _good_, _safe_ place again. His muscles fall lax; Saul is like a pure hit of morphine.

"Nigh', S'ul," Jesse mumbles.

He feels more than hears Saul's laugh when the man replies, "Goodnight, Jesse."


	15. Chapter 15

Jesse isn't sure when he last slept the full night through, waking up gradually in a tranquil stillness devoid of alarms or twisted nightmares. Even staying at Badger's had resulted in Jesse blinking awake fleetingly at the sounds of Chompy causing mischief in the night, as he'd grown to be a light sleeper, for all his nightmares reside just below the surface of true sleep and he runs the risk of trapping himself there if he dives too deep. Despite that ever-present threat, Jesse didn't wake up once last night. Every time he felt that oppressive terror creeping up, something would remind him that Saul was near, that he was in a safe place, and his dreams would mellow once more.

The all-consuming craving for his pipe is notably absent, as well. _That _is a wholly new experience, to not feel as though he's crawling out of his skin for a hit, mind whirring for ways to achieve that high. His muscles are like warm honey when he wakes, limbs heavy, and Saul's heady scent augments the sense of security. A strong, rhythmic beat marks time in his ears. It takes a few breaths for him to realize its Saul's heartbeat. In his sleep, Jesse evidently managed to pin the DA down with a leg hitched over the man's hips and an arm angled over his stomach; Jesse's head rests heavily over the other man's chest, ears neatly tucked to listen to his heartbeat. His body shifts alongside Saul's with every gentle inhalation the man takes. There's a tickling sensation over his hand and wrist, and Jesse peeks an eye open to watch Saul trace his scorpion tattoo with light brushes of his fingertips, mapping the stark ink from end to end in a continuous loop.

A raw, _intense_ feeling blazes through him so harshly that his next breath stutters out, and he clutches at Saul, desperate to be closer. To greet the day _here_, to think that, despite everything, Saul found him worth chasing after, worth _keeping_ is enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

Saul's warm frame immediately conforms to him, relaxed and welcoming. "Easy, Jesse," he coos softly, voice little more than a rumble, "you're okay, sweetheart." The man's hand wraps around the back of Jesse's neck, lightly with enough pressure to be notable, but not enough to feel assertive. His other hand ghosts along his back, down along his spine. "It's alright, you're safe," he says in a low murmur, chest vibrating with it. "I've got you, darling," he promises.

He shuts his eyes against it all, the new endearment making his heart jump in his chest. He tucks himself closer to the DA, murmuring the man's name in an earnest whisper. Saul tenses for a beat beneath him, before relaxing and shifting his hold. His broad palm scruffs with a little more purpose at Jesse's nape and the other moves to Jesse's hand, trapping the scorpion between his cupped palm and Jesse's balled fist.

"Are you awake, Jesse?"

"Sorry, I—" Jesse moves to pull away in embarrassment, but Saul stops him with a gentle hand, brushing along his thigh and coming to a rest on his knee. Jesse relaxes against him again. Saul's warm words strike a chord, and Jesse suspects the feeling of safety he'd gotten last night wasn't solely due to his subconscious acknowledgement of Saul. "You, did you… Last night, you helped me, when the nightmares…?"

In lieu of reply, Saul dips his head and presses a kiss to Jesse's crown.

Jesse stretches up, in search of Saul's lips, but winces when sharp pain races along his ribs. He freezes, easing back into a position that diminishes the jagged pain to a dull ache.

Saul's hands rush to cradle him, supporting the cage of his ribs with broad palms. "Are you okay?" he asks worriedly.

"Yeah. Good," he replies through a tight jaw as the ache slowly ebbs. He tilts his head up to look at the older man and adds, "Maybe you could come down here?"

The lawyer's eyes are alert and bright – he's clearly been awake for some time. Still, his hair sticks up in endearing disorder from sleep and Jesse can't help but tilt his chin up again, lips seeking Saul's. The man smiles at him, eyes crinkling charmingly as he dips his head obligingly to kiss the blond.

Jesse relaxes, returning the small swipes of tongue Saul offers, fisting a hand in the collar of the man's shirt. The rough burn of Saul's morning stubble catching against his own when Saul's lips align with his makes liquid pleasure pool low in his gut. He purrs deeply, pressing closer.

"That, right there, is fantastic," Saul admits, pulling away for a moment to kiss along Jesse's jaw, hand splayed over his vibrating chest.

"What…the purring?" Jesse interrupts the rhythmic noise by asking, but it's quick to resume as Saul nips lightly at his neck.

"Yeah." Saul smiles again, forming his hands around the blond's chest, bracketing his ribs and the rumbles inside.

"I, uhm, can't control it," Jesse confesses, flush high on his cheeks.

"No?" At Jesse's confirming head shake, Saul grins, dropping one hand to rest heavily on the small of Jesse's back, pressing him close. "Even better, then," he says gravelly. He continues to coax out that rhythmic rumble by passing the pads of his fingers across the blond's ribs, and laying a necklace of nips and kisses along his exposed neck just above the healing bruise there. He pays extra attention to the underside of Jesse's jaw, as it draws out deeper purrs.

The pleasure that Jesse had initially been able to ignore for the sake of staying close to Saul is steadily becoming a problem. He can feel a warm coil tightening low in his gut; his cock twitches and begins to fill as Saul nips at his throat again. Whimpering softly, he tries to drag his hips back from Saul, afraid of being found out – Mike's implication of him being a whore making his stomach twist uncomfortably. He doesn't want Saul to think that's why he fell asleep here last night, and he knows he won't be able to hide his arousal with his leg hitched over Saul's the way it is.

Saul lets him draw away, frowning slightly. He drops his hand to the small of Jesse's back to support him. "Sorry, did you not want—"

He cuts off when Jesse moans helplessly, shivers traveling his spine at the feel of Saul's hand there. He watches Saul's eyes dilate further, now that he's in position to see them, and his next inhale brings with it the heady scent of Saul's arousal. He'd been too self-conscious to sense any of it prior to this moment.

"What's wrong, Jesse? Is this…is this okay?"

"Yeah," Jesse breathes out, "Yeah, I just… You don't think that I…"

"That you what, sweetheart?" Saul prompts at his hesitation.

"That I'm tryin' to sleep with you 'cause it's just business?" Jesse asks in a rush, tense against the other man.

Saul frowns again, drawing Jesse close with hands meant to comfort more than arouse. "Jesse," he murmurs. "Darling, no. I promise you, what Mike said last night – _before _his apology – doesn't mean anything." Saul brushes a hand along Jesse's temple and continues once Jesse meets his gaze. "I can't claim to know everything about you, Jesse, but I know you're not the type to manipulate like that."

Jesse relaxes at the sincerity in Saul's eyes. "Okay, I just, I don't want you to think…"

"I don't, sweetheart. I've had my fair share of experience with liars, cheats and vindictive people. Those categories aren't open to you at all, Jesse. You're genuine, kid, and from the few glimpses I've gotten, you're forgiving and just to a fault; you've had two hostile people at your mercy in the last several hours and both times you let them go. Which also means you have little sense of well-being, and that's alarming, especially as it's so evident in so many ways," he says, dragging his hand down Jesse's protruding ribs pointedly. "As much as you put others before yourself, I know you've listed yourself as a low priority. It only makes me want to give you _everything_, Jesse. Anything you ask for, and all the things you can't seem to voice. Including _this,_" he punctuates his last sentence with a teasing series of scratches with blunt nails against the base of Jesse's spine, dipping toward his tailbone.

Jesse's rapt attention is broken by the sharp spike of pleasure; that spot is like a direct line to his cock and he can feel himself fill further as he collapses against Saul. His next breath stutters out of him in a moan, hips bucking forward helplessly as he seeks friction against his cock.

He's never done much more with a guy than mutual masturbation, and the thought of sharing more with Saul is exciting and intimidating.

"Careful," Saul murmurs, planting one hand over Jesse's ribs as the blond continues to thrust lithely against his hip. Saul hasn't let up with his other hand, switching between teasing scratches and firm, pressing massage against that mind-numbing spot.

Jesse moans unintelligibly. He knows he could come like this; the head of his cock is leaking steadily against the cloth of his borrowed pants and each drag along Saul's bony hip sparks pleasure low in his belly. His leg is still hitched over Saul's, and he can feel the man's answering erection against the underside of his thigh. The man's musky scent is overwhelming, and Jesse noses at his neck to inhale deeply, cock throbbing at the scent. He fumbles to a halt when Saul slips free from beneath him, looking up dazedly as the DA leans over him.

Saul helps him turn onto his back. The man is flushed and his eyes look wild; Jesse makes a pleading noise, reaching for him and tugging him down until their lips meet once more. He licks into Saul's mouth, moaning again when Saul cups him through his sleep pants. He rocks up into that warm hold, pleasure sparking along his spine. Saul hooks his thumbs into Jesse's pants, dragging them down slowly to give him time to object.

Jesse has no intention of stopping him. He lifts his hips to help remove the item of clothing completely. His cock springs free and Saul's hand immediately wraps around it, stroking once from root to tip before switching to just his fingertips, charting every inch with light, unpredictable strokes.

Jesse groans, nerves sparking to life beneath the man's hand. In the past, all that this ever amounted to with previous partners was the end goal – a near goddamn race to that final state of completion. But Saul is _teasing_, drawing the pleasure out to a point that Jesse's not familiar with; even while alone, Jesse never took time in this moment like Saul is currently.

The older man fondles his balls, touch still gentle and inquisitive as he explores all that Jesse offers. The blond moans, the feel of pre-come dripping along his length causing him to writhe against the bed. He gasps at the dull ache in his ribs, but it's quickly lost to the pleasure of Saul's hand.

"Easy, Jesse," Saul says, and in this context, it only makes Jesse groan, hips stuttering up into Saul's hold.

Jesse's hand flies down to his hard cock, desperate for more stimulation than the teasing touches Saul's given him. His wrist is caught just before his goal, though, and Saul's dark chuckle makes his cock twitch.

"Be good, Jesse," Saul murmurs, before unexpectedly ducking his head to lick up the steady stream of pre-come.

Jesse gasps, clutching at Saul's hand as the man takes the tip of his cock into his mouth. Saul laves the head devotedly, dipping into the silt with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, _fuck_," Jesse groans, eyes rolling back as his hips arch up into that warm mouth. The man is braced over him on his hands and knees and Jesse's struck with a tempting idea. He gathers enough strength to wriggle under Saul's mouth, contorting as far as his ribs will allow to reach Saul's hips with his hands. The other man is too focused on his task to notice Jesse's changed position until the blond snakes his hand into the opening of his sleep pants to free his hard length.

Jesse smirks at the break in Saul's concentration, and though he's never done anything like this before, he knows what he likes, and can gather enough from the blowjobs he's received. Saul's scent is concentrated here, _deeply_ musky and unique. Jesse growls and laps at the head, relishing in Saul's stuttered moan. He makes a controlled effort to keep his sharp teeth covered, drawing more of Saul into his mouth. The DA rewards him with broad sweeps of his hands over Jesse's ribs, one hand reaching back to trail along his tailbone.

The purrs that filter up his throat cause Saul to _groan_ brokenly, thrusting into Jesse's mouth for a second before drawing back hurriedly with a strained apology.

Saul drops his mouth to Jesse's rigid length again, moaning against the warm flesh in his mouth, and Jesse's purrs increase at the added stimulation. It encourages more moans from Saul and for a moment, they're stuck in a feedback loop. He pants brokenly through his nose, clutching at Saul's shaky hips above him. Saul drops to his elbows to _consume_ Jesse, and the blond's gut clenches at the feel of him slipping impossibly _deeper_ into that wet heat. The man's throat flutters along his length in a swallow and Jesse lets the man's cock pop from his mouth to mewl warningly, "_Saul, fuck, _I'm gonna—" he groans as Saul doubles his efforts, lifting Jesse's hips up to massage against that triangle just above his ass, a deep pressure that makes his cock _throb_. The man doesn't let up, moving his hand to his balls again, squeezing warmly before dipping a couple fingers below the heavy, tightly-drawn globes to stroke along Jesse's perineum. He presses _up_ and pleasure _flares_ across Jesse's spine. Between one breath and another, Jesse is coming, spilling himself into Saul's working throat. His mouth hangs open on a wet gasp as his orgasm rushes through him, clutching at the sheets.

Saul swallows around him steadily, eagerly taking every pulse Jesse offers, prompting_ more_ from the shaking blond as he refuses to stop. Jesse pants harshly, blinking up dazedly at Saul's ignored length hanging heavily above him. He pushes upward to draw him back into his mouth. It earns him a moan against his own oversensitive cock and he whimpers, trembling and twisting lightly to free himself from Saul's warm mouth before he continues licking along Saul, purrs skating along the man's hard flesh. He can hear Saul groaning and panting from somewhere near his hips and it makes him growl possessively.

"Jesse, _unghn_, wait," Saul groans, and tries to sit back but Jesse draws him closer gently with both hands. "I'm close, Jesse," the man warns him breathlessly.

Jesse rubs one hand along the man's thigh encouragingly, lifting the other to stroke along the thick stretch of Saul's cock that he can't fit in his mouth. The only further warning he gets is a broken moan from Saul before the man is pouring himself into Jesse's welcoming mouth.

Licking eagerly at Saul's pulsing length, he tenderly drags forth everything Saul has to give. He releases Saul's twitching cock at the first whimper the man gives, dropping his head back to the bed.

He grins at Saul dazedly when the man gathers him into his arms, dragging him back up to the head of the bed. He gets the blond settled, and once Saul drops his own head on the pillow, Jesse snakes his hand beneath him to knead at the muscles of his neck to rectify forcing them into that awkward position for so long. The DA makes a pleased noise and drags the heel of his hand down Jesse's spine.

The blond melts against him, licking contentedly at the clean sweat he discovers pooled in the hollow of Saul's neck, grinning at Saul's tired moan. He closes his eyes, drifting on the warm pleasure of his orgasm and the repetitive drag of Saul's hands down his flanks. His purring slips in rhythm as he eases toward sleep again. Even massaging lightly at the base of Saul's skull is enough to ease his mind into a hazy place; the bliss he can detect from Saul in scent and posture is deeply satisfying for Jesse.

Just as he begins to slip away, Saul nudges him.

"Hey, don't go back to sleep, kid."

Jesse mumbles indecipherably.

Laughing, Saul spiders his hands across Jesse's ribs, the sensation sparking along those nerves. It's enough to rouse him a bit. "Your purrs always stutter and fade right before you fall asleep," Saul informs him. "C'mon, Jesse. Stay with me, kid, I promised you pancakes, remember? Can't eat 'em if you sleep the whole morning away."

Jesse's sure pancakes would be just fine eaten for lunch, but he sticks to this side of consciousness anyway. He steals another kiss from the sated lawyer before he sleepily dons his pants and follows Saul into the kitchen.

"You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

"Uhm… Not that I'm aware? I mean, I've never been stung by a bee, but…"

Saul flashes him a fond grin as he washes up at the sink. "No, I mean, as far as food." He digs through the fridge and starts pulling out items. Fruit, milk, butter.

Jesse follows Saul's example, washing at the sink and catching the towel Saul throws him. "Oh, yeah, no. I'm good." Jesse watches him curiously for a moment. "Yo, uhm, I can help. I mean, can I help?"

Smiling, the DA draws Jesse in by the jaw lightly for a kiss, as though he can't help himself. Jesse crowds closer, small smile playing on his own lips.

"Do you like peaches?" At Jesse's nod, he adds, "Strawberries?"

"Yeah. Both good."

"Great." Saul makes quick work of washing the mentioned fruit, slicing the leaves off the strawberries and peeling and pitting the peach. He tosses the prepared fruit into the blender, along with a cup of water. From the pantry, he pulls out a red container with a bold _Muscle Master_ label, which proclaims to help rebuild and strengthen muscles after your workout.

"Uhm…" Jesse watches Saul throw a couple scoops of the powder into the blender and chases it with a generous helping of honey.

"It's not just for gym junkies, kid," Saul assures him. He drags a gentle hand down Jesse's side, where his sharp ribs lay hidden beneath his shirt. "It'll help you put on mass, and with as active as you constantly are, it'll be _lean_ mass on you."

Jesse doesn't get time to question Saul before the blender is whirring loudly. He watches the mixture turn into a light pink drink. Anything that shade tends to make the blond squeamish, bringing back memories of scooping up the slop he turned Emilio into. He frowns, his previous hazy pleasure deserting him at the thought. He crowds closer to Saul to drop his head into the juncture of the man's neck and shoulder. Saul easily lifts a hand up to drag his fingers through Jesse's hair, kissing the side of his face he can reach, oblivious to Jesse's true need for comfort but always willing to give him the affection he craves.

The blender stops, and Jesse steps back to let Saul pour it into a glass for him. Adam's apple bobbing nervously, Jesse takes the offered drink. He really hopes he manages not to throw up all over Saul's floor. The first sip is sweet, and his mind's on board with that; it's the consistency that makes his gag reflex panic.

Saul takes it back with a mild frown. "Not sweet enough?" He retrieves a can of whip cream from the fridge and adds a generous portion to top the drink off. He uses a spoon to mix a bit of it in and hands it back.

Definitely not the issue, but Jesse can't tell him the real reason without opening another bit of himself up to this man; a part that might make Saul run. That horror story might be the tipping point – Jesse's sure it would only take one thing for Saul to realize he's not worth the hassle. He knows the risk of keeping things from Saul – the way he'd felt last night after he thought he'd lost everything is both reason enough to avoid scaring Saul off but also has him worried about keeping secrets. His skull hurts with the thoughts warring in his head. He startles lightly when Saul wraps him in his arms.

"Give it another try, sweetheart. If it still tastes awful, we can try chocolate. Maybe peanut butter?"

Jesse presses into the man's side, smiling when the DA passes a hand through his hair, and down his back. Saul makes sure to leave Jesse enough room to drink again. The blond takes a few gulps, resolutely keeping his mind in the _present_. It's easy to do when the lawyer turns to praising him freely.

"Good, Jesse. That's great. Just a few more sips, alright? The peach will help add protein, too." Saul lightly drags his palm down Jesse's side, beneath his borrowed shirt. "We're going to take care of this, Jesse," Saul murmurs with conviction, adding against his temple, "There's a good boy," as Jesse finishes the shake.

Jesse stops to lick his lips of the whip cream and to duck his face into Saul's neck again, cheeks warm from the man's words and from the concern and affection radiating off the other man.

"Thank you, Jesse," Saul says warmly, pressing his hand to the back of his skull, mindful of the stitches as he presses the blond close. Saul takes the glass from him – about two spoonfuls remain at the bottom – and places it in the sink. He turns back to Jesse with a pleased smile and Jesse unconsciously steps closer, thrilled at inspiring the man's idyllic features and scent with such a simple task.

He tilts his chin up and Saul easily leans in to kiss him. The DA licks into his mouth with fleeting sweeps of his tongue, chasing the sweetness left there. Jesse growls lightly, pressing closer; those quick, teasing touches of that slick muscle always leaves him needing more. Saul seems to know it, because he keeps it up for another few moments, corners of his mouth curled up as he tortures the blond lovingly. He finally, _finally_ deepens the kiss and Jesse melts against him.

A moan preludes a purr up Jesse's throat. He presses his chest forward when Saul splays his palm across it to feel the vibrations there.

"Blueberry pancakes?" Saul asks in a stolen breath, delivering another playful swipe of his tongue across the seam of Jesse's lips.

Jesse gives a hum of agreement, slotting his lips to Saul's once more.

Saul huffs out of a laugh, asking during another lull, "Eggs?"

"Eggs," Jesse echoes in agreement, pulling the man closer by his waist. His cock is semi hard in his pants again and he can feel Saul's answering hardness with as close as they are.

The man doesn't push for more though, giving Jesse one last parting kiss before turning to the items still scattered atop the counter. Jesse watches Saul dig out a whisk and bowl. The blond eagerly steps up to help, stealing and earning tender touches as they make breakfast together.


	16. Chapter 16

Saul ensured Jesse ate enough at breakfast to knock him into a food coma. He passes out on the sofa in the quiet living room, body utterly sated by sex and food. He half-wakes sporadically at the small sounds of Saul moving about. He's still a light sleeper despite being in a safe place. Though Saul's house is of moderate size, it's so much _bigger _than the Crystal Ship that Jesse feels vulnerable. Fortunately, every time he blinks awake lazily, groggy but content, Saul is nearby if not sitting next to him.

At some point, a pillow from the bedroom magically appeared, nestled under Jesse's head, as well as a ridiculously fuzzy blanket which he's aggressively cuddling to his bruised chest. His phone chimes the Communicator chirp and Jesse sluggishly digs in his pocket, listening sleepily to Saul making soft noises in the kitchen. He grins at the screen, immensely relived that it's not Mr White bugging him this early, it's Badger.

His opening text reads: **_Yo, man, s'up? Breakies at work. Bored. And it's fucking hot out today._**

Jesse blinks at the time listed in the corner of the screen. It's 11:00. He's a little surprised he's rested this long without any assistance from his pipe. He focuses again and types back: **Stop drinking soda and drink some water.**

**_How'd you know? You spyin' on me, watching me drink my Dew? That's weird, man._**

**Nah, dude, I'm psychic.**

**_Lies. I'd totally know._**

**How? Are you psychic? Cuz I outrank Cable.**

**_Whatever. You can brag when you're Xavier's level. But yo, seriously, if you have super powers, you gotta tell me, Jesse._**

Jesse grins down at his screen. **You'd be the first to know, dude. Hey, so, I got someone I want you to meet.**

**_Yeah? They got some good stuff?_**

**No, not like that. I met someone. We're dating I think?**

**_Oh! Sweet. Sure, bring her by the job any day around closing. We can go for food._**

Jesse hesitates, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He can hear Saul humming along to the stereo in the kitchen. With a steadying breath the types: **He.**

**_What?_**

**I met a guy. He's really cool. He's nice. **Jesse waits anxiously for his friend's reply, staring avidly at his phone.

**_Oh. Well sweet. Same deal then. I totally gotta meet him to see if he passes regulation specs._**

The blond releases his held breath and grins; if Badger is willing to joke, then it's all good. **He's far above standard issue.**

**_We'll see about that, cadet! Not everyone is allowed aboard the USS Enterprise!_**

**Yo, you callin' me a ship?**

**_Hahah! Aw, man, dammit. To be continued. I gotta get back to work. See ya._**

**Alright. Drink some water.**

**_Yes, mother._**

Jesse catches the flash of his own grin in the reflection of his screen when he types: **Later, dude.**

"Oh, and _I'm_ the nerd, huh? Even _I _don't have Star Trek noises on my phone, kid."

Jesse twists slightly to grin up at Saul, releasing the fuzzy blanket in exchange for dragging Saul closer by his hips. "It was out of my control, and I'm too lazy to fix it."

"Lazy, hmmm?" Smiling, Saul dips low to kiss the blond fondly. "You look more sleepy, to me," he teases. He easily takes his seat, a warm palm stroking once over Jesse's side. Jesse only notices the discarded case file on the end table when Saul picks it up, and he vaguely remembers seeing the lawyer with it during one of his brief moments of wakefulness. He settles under Saul's hand, watching the man turn back to his reading, absently petting Jesse lightly across his shoulders, trailing up to his neck and eventually moving up to groom with the grain of fur along his nearest ear before combing through his hair. Jesse vaguely remembers this, as well.

Purring, Jesse headbutts Saul's leg affectionately. He scents the man's wrist as his hand makes another pass, pressing closer when Saul shifts his focus to him. The man sets the folder down on the table to free both hands for Jesse, running one over his ears and the other broad hand braced in concern across Jesse's ribs at the point where his chest tapers in while the blond stretches cautiously.

When Jesse settles again, he tugs Saul's hand up to nuzzle his cheek against it drunkenly, lips tingling when they brush against the man's skin. Saul's throaty chuckle makes him tug Saul's trapped hand to the hollow of his neck possessively, toward the bundled blanket.

Saul drags his thumb – the only digit free from Jesse's grasp – across his jaw in soothing strokes, avoiding the bruises marring his skin. He stretches to the side a bit to fit his other hand over the nape of Jesse's neck.

Time slows to _syrup_ and Jesse grins broadly. He presses back into that hold, purr rumbling up his chest.

"You're like, the best drug," Jesse slurs through his grin. The loving touch grounds him just as the release of dopamine sets him free in a floaty rush. He groans, muscles turning into sun-warmed sand.

Saul laughs. Fondly, he says, "I'll take that as a compliment, kid."

With Saul, this touch always inspires a sense of being protected; it's a far leap away from the helplessness and anxiety it typically brings. Under Saul's benevolent hand, it resembles a hit of choice chronic. The easy drop of edibles, not the rush of smoking, which always leaves him mildly irritated with cotton mouth. The last time he'd bummed weed off Badger, he'd gotten so thirsty he'd drank two liters of soda before getting sick all over Badger's garage floor, much to his friend's horror. He gives a wobbly laugh at the memory, clumsily butting his head against Saul's thigh again.

"What does this do for you, kid?" Saul asks him, flexing his palm gently.

"S'good, with you," Jesse says breathily, pressing back into Saul's hold. It's definitely that same warm feeling when weed kicks in; his skin tingles every time he brushes against something and his worries evaporate. Typically, when he's smoking, an aftereffect that he _hates_ is the urge to _cuddle_ but with Saul inspiring that impulse, he _craves it,_ sleepily dragging himself up to collapse over Saul's lap. He lies with his head and the ball of his shoulder angled over Saul's thighs, the pillow bunched under his ribs. "Nice. Safe. Feels…like…floatin' in a j'cuzzi."

"Like a deprivation tank?"

Jesse wouldn't know. He makes a small noise of uncertainty in the back of his throat, brows knitting together. Saul rectifies it by squeezing at his nape rhythmically for a moment. He groans again, letting Saul's captured hand slip from his pliant fingers as he drops back into that hazy place.

"Careful with those kinds of noises, Jesse," Saul warns with a smile, dragging his freed hand down the blond's side again. He scitches at Jesse's scalp for a leisurely moment, easily taming Jesse's headache.

Jesse's answer is another yawn, soft mew the last sound he makes before dropping off to sleep once more.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse wanders into Saul's home office, trailing after the man's scent, which is currently strongest here. He takes a moment to watch the man behind the sleek, cherry wood L-cut desk. He looks soft, having changed into jeans and a dark green Henley, first couple of buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. He's reading from a bulky letter taken out of the day's mail. The rest of the mail is thrown atop the table, next to a neat stack of case files. Jesse watches him for a moment, smiling at the way Saul absently adjusts the reading glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose.

It's silent save for the steady ticking of the desk clock, the gentle hum of the computer's internal fan, and below all that, Saul's relaxed breathing. It's lulling, the sounds coupled with the sight of Saul at peace. This is yet another space Saul's calming presence has permeated everything. There aren't any gaudy decals lining the walls here, instead they're painted a faint blue and free of clutter save for another grouping of postcards on one and a corkboard on another.

The corkboard draws his attention. It's covered in notes and letters of varying colored paper, seemingly random lines of text and dates circled. The pushpins are designed after swords, only the hilts visible. There are fencing swords with intricate wire guards, pirate swords with wider guards, samurai and even a few European style swords. He immediately recognizes Link's sword, grinning broadly at it. He spots the hilt to a lightsaber next. The others are possibly from notable franchises as well, but none are familiar. The paperwork they hold up proves to be fairly boring. It must be work stuff, and as none of it contains any names Jesse knows, it slowly loses his interest.

"_Jesus, kid_," Saul's voice forcefully cuts through the silence, startling the blond into jumping back from the board.

Jesse whips around to look at him searchingly. Saul's bitter fear lances through the air for a breath and Jesse wrinkles his nose at the scent, glancing fleetingly behind himself into the hallway to check for the cause of Saul's alarm. There's nothing there, so the cause must be him, _again_.

"Way to get the heart rate up, kid," he grumbles, setting aside his glasses and letter as Jesse rounds the desk for him. He looks up to Jesse with a wry smile. "How long were you standing there? I didn't even hear you come in. Gonna have to put a bell on you."

Saul's fear has faded almost completely, dropping as quickly as it spiked, as there is no true threat to carry it forward, and Jesse leans down to nuzzle against the uninjured side of his neck apologetically.

"No bells," he growls against the man's throat. He never liked the concept of collars – the existence of them only served to further separate people like him into another category of something _lesser_. Jesse doesn't want to be seen as _property_. If other people dug that kinda stuff, that was fine. Consenting adults, and all that. However, the amount of protests that frequently spring up outside collar shops would indicate that he isn't the only one who feels uncomfortable about it.

Saul laughs, reaching up to run his fingers through Jesse's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "Fine, no bells," he easily concedes, obviously joking without aiming to insult. "Well, we should probably figure _something_ out, then."

Jesse purrs, kneading contentedly at the arms of Saul's wingback chair, bracketing the man in while he works his magic fingers over his skull. He can see the man's point; he's unintentionally scared the lawyer at least six times now, so naturally light-footed that he keeps catching Saul flat-footed. The house _only_ smells of Saul, so the man likely isn't used to other people constantly in his space, and Jesse's never had need to properly announce himself in the past, as it was always in his best interest to remain unnoticed. It's easier to avoid confrontation if no one knows you're around. But for the DA's sanity, he'll have to figure something out. "Sorry. Guess I'll start knocking. Or I could whistle, or something?"

"Oh hell no," Saul immediately rebuffs. "Haven't you heard of la lechuza? What if it isn't _your_ whistling I hear?"

Snorting a laugh, Jesse presses closer, filled with so much fondness that he's urged to bury his face against Saul's throat. "Nerd," he mutters affectionately. "Besides, wouldn't _you _have to whistle first?"

"Not necessarily. Besides, I _can't_ whistle, at least not melodically, so I wouldn't get caught like that," he says triumphantly.

Jesse grins again, purr rumbling up from his chest. Saul gathers him in his arms and Jesse crouches over the man, knees slotted between the man's narrow hips and the arms of the chair. He settles himself in Saul's lap once he realizes he's welcome there. He buries his face in Saul's neck, drifting as Saul rubs a soothing hand down his spine in long repetitive strokes. His ears tilt back to the sound of Saul picking up the letter he'd had earlier, returning to his reading.

"My bad. Busy? I can go."

"No," Saul says into Jesse's hairline. "Stay. I'm just catching up with side work. This lengthy nonsense is from an ex-coworker. You being here will help me get through it. I'm going to have to print off a reply, as he refuses email, so that's another headache… Speaking of…" he trails off, pressing his lips to Jesse's temple.

"M'fine," Jesse assures him.

"Alright," Saul acquiesces, easily returning to stroking along the blond's back. "I'd appreciate it if you stayed right where you are," he insists warmly.

Jesse doesn't quite get it, but he figures any role he can serve to benefit Saul is a good one, so he stays seated where he is. Long, comfortable moments pass, Saul stroking along Jesse's back absently, drawing a purr from the blond. A few beats later, Saul begins to rock the chair in a controlled rhythm, feet planted firmly on the floor. Jesse presses close, nuzzling sleepily at Saul's jaw. He steadily slips down into that _safe _place with each brush of Saul's broad palm down his spine. In a soothing whisper, Saul reads lines of the letter to himself, obviously in an attempt to untangle the words into something logical. The soft sound of his voice causes pleasant tingles and shivers to travel Jesse's scalp and spine. His eyes slip shut, easily lulled into a doze on Saul's lap.

Just as Jesse truly begins to trip over that hazy line between waking and dreams, Saul presses a kiss to his temple and murmurs his name. Saul scruffs him and Jesse presses closer, purring losing rhythm for a breath as he falls back to wakefulness.

In an uneasy voice, Saul says, "Seriously, Jesse, don't whistle down the halls."

Another fond laugh bubbles out of Jesse's throat, and he squeezes Saul tightly. "Alright, whistling is bad. I promise, I won't let la lechuza get you," he swears.

Saul leans back, Jesse easily shifting his weight to balance out the tilting chair. It was apparently Saul's plan, as the new position allows him to kiss Jesse tenderly, smoothing away the blond's amused smirk with a swipe of his tongue.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

After Saul had suggested lunch – disappearing into the kitchen to start something and declining help – Jesse had snuck back into Saul's office. The man still refused to take any money Jesse offered, and had even lightly scolded the blond when he'd tried to sneak some bills into Saul's wallet, but maybe he could draw for the DA. Badger tended to take that as payment often enough. The series of dragons he'd drawn for Badger seem like another lifetime ago, and he can feel the urge to sketch making his hands restless.

He considers the paper in the printer tray, but doesn't want to waste anything. He spots one of the empty envelopes Saul balled up and tossed in the bin, and he digs it out, smoothing it flat against the edge of the desk. This way, if Saul doesn't like the sketch, then no loss, as it was drawn on trash anyway. He slips the salvaged paper into the pocket of his hoodie. Among the clutter scattered about the desk, he finds an errant pen which he slides into his pocket as well.

Jesse retreats to Saul's bedroom. He flips through a few of the man's comics again, gathering source material. It's been a while since he drew any superheroes, and he doesn't want this to look like a kid drew it just because he worked from memory alone.

He shoves his sleeve up and sketches on the canvas of his forearm to warm up. The blue ink starts to take shape, loose concept art of Batman running, punching, diving across two rectangles meant to represent buildings. He decides he likes that one best, and turns to the wrinkled envelope. He blocks in the buildings first, choosing a low horizon and vanishing point beyond the envelope to exaggerate their height. He lightly sketches Batman next, with the figure fleshed out in corded muscle, one leg drawn up to prepare for the landing of the roof leap and fists stretched back to draw the eye to his billowing cape trailing behind him. He aims to make the jump as dramatic as possible, shading with the ink in quick lines and minimal cross-hatching to imply movement. He blocks in a few more buildings to imply a sprawling city, and finishes by heavily shading in the hero's costume and the surrounding sky, because Batman always hunts baddies at night.

He stares at the sketch for a moment, fighting to impulse to crumple it up – Badger always said he was his own worst critic, but there's a lot that could be improved on this one. He tears the front end of the envelope free, leaving the sketch intact on the back. Flipping through another comic, he finds a few frames of the Joker and sets to work sketching the maniacal man, laughing at Bats, who's got his fist drawn back in preparation to punch the villain. He sketches Batman's face in a furious snarl in contrast to the Joker's wide grin. He's blocking out their torsos around the view window of the envelope, bold Batman logo and pinstripe suit, when a soft noise catches his attention.

He looks up to find Saul standing next to the nightstand, watching him intently. He's genuinely shocked that he was too absorbed in his work to even hear the DA until he was right on top of him. It's only when Saul takes a step forward that Jesse realizes the lawyer is holding his first drawing.

"Jesse," Saul says reverently. "Did you draw this?"

The blond pales. "Uhm, yeah. It's for you, if, if you like it, but it's not done… I was gonna give it a minute, before lookin' at it again. Sometimes I need a break from a sketch. There're spots where, uhm, it needs…"

Saul leans toward him, catching his fumbling lips with his own sure ones, combing a soothing hand through Jesse's hair. He drops his hand to Jesse's, tightening their hold around the pen.

"Will you sign them?" He asks, breaking the kiss and looking at the incomplete sketch in Jesse's other hand. When he locks eyes with Jesse again, the blond falters at the intensity he finds there.

"Well, uhm, this one _definitely _isn't done, so—"

Saul silences him again, licking hungrily into his mouth and tilting Jesse's head back to probe deeper. He breaks away once his efforts successfully drag a moan from the blond's throat.

"They're amazing. _You're_ amazing," Saul tells him breathlessly. "Please." He nudges the sketch toward Jesse and the blond takes it dazedly.

"Yeah, whatever you want," Jesse agrees, licking his lips. He signs the first sketch, shivering when Saul lightly drags his fingertips over the blue warm-up sketches along his arm. Saul's scent thickens with arousal and Jesse breathes it in greedily, cock stirring in his pants in response to the cloying scent. Shivers travel up his spine at the tender touch of Saul's fingers and he licks his lips again. He watches Saul trace those loose gesture sketches for a beat before Saul leans down to claim his lips.

"The other one," he insists, _nuzzling_ against the blond's jaw, brushing the firm line of his nose against Jesse's throat.

The simple act _soothes_ a deep-seated ache in Jesse and he moans helplessly, scrabbling for the second sketch to sign it. He's barely lifted his pen from the paper when Saul is grabbing both, setting them and the comics safely on the nightstand before he _pounces_ on Jesse. They bounce on the bed together with the force of it and Jesse laughs up at Saul. He freezes unexpectedly when Saul sits back to rest on Jesse's hips, pinning him down and looming over him, palms braced near Jesse's shoulders. The blond's ears snap back in relived horror at the vulnerable position, and his throat clamps shut on a frightened whine. He shakes the feeling away aggressively, eyes fixed on _Saul_ above him, and _no one else, damn it_, but he isn't quick enough to hide his fear from Saul.

"Are you okay?" The DA hardly gives him time to answer, gathering Jesse close and pressing the blond into his neck, where Jesse scents him shakily for a few breaths.

The familiar scent is grounding and his muscles gradually relax. Before he can even consider apologizing, Saul flips them over, so that he lies prone beneath the artist.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he says gently. "Was it because I was moving too roughly?"

There's no judgment in Saul's voice, but Jesse still flushes hotly in embarrassment. He doesn't want to appear weak in front of Saul, so he stays quiet.

Saul frowns, carding a hand through Jesse's hair. "It won't happen again," he promises.

Jesse tenses. He knew he'd sabotage this for himself somehow. He doesn't want to lose this part of Saul, and he hurriedly opens his mouth to plead, "Please, no, it's fine. _I'm _fine, it's okay, I—"

The lawyer shushes him, leaning up to kiss Jesse soundly. "I didn't mean I would never touch you again," he murmurs huskily, dragging his hands down Jesse's chest to his hips. "I don't think I could resist that, unless you told me to stop. And you can _always_ tell me to stop," he says fiercely, eyes locked with Jesse's. "I meant that I never want to make you feel _cornered_, and if that means we go slow and steady, that's fine, Jesse, because I _like_ drawing out pleasure for you, to hear those beautiful _sounds_ you make."

Saul wriggles down the bed, until his face is level with Jesse's chest. "I shouldn't have forgotten about this, either. I'm sorry," he murmurs, lifting Jesse's shirt. The blond dips his head to watch Saul as the lawyer places a kind hand over his bruised ribs lightly. He slips out of the shirt easily, eager to offer Saul more. He isn't disappointed; Saul immediately leans forward to lick a broad stripe up Jesse's chest. A small moan tips from his lips, followed by a rhythmic purr at the unexpectedly pleasant feeling. He presses closer to Saul, relishing in the way every sound that he makes causes a jump in the scent of Saul's arousal. He wriggles out of his pants, tugging Saul's jeans and boxers down shortly after. He helps the man remove his shirt, burying his nose in Saul's neck to scent him once he's bare.

The slick slide of Saul's erection has him thrusting his hips low to grind his own cock against it. He smirks at Saul's answering breathless moan. Just like their previous encounter, Saul takes his time studiously mapping Jesse with sure fingers, stroking and scratching lightly at the full expanse of Jesse's chest and back. He presses firmly at muscles that make Jesse moan and grind against him, rubbing the pads of his thumbs gently over the blond's nipples, earning breathless whines.

"Those sweet sounds," he murmurs. He leisurely worships Jesse's lithe frame, drawing nonsensical patterns over his skin, leaning up to swipe his tongue over Jesse's dragon tattoo, hand dropping to Jesse's hips as they shakily thrust downward. He drags his blunt nails down the dips of Jesse's hips before stroking his length leisurely, knuckles rubbing teasingly along Jesse's abdomen.

Jesse groans as his muscles flex under that light brush of knuckles, length jumping in Saul's fist. His arms shake with the effort of keeping himself poised over Saul. A clever twist of the man's fist has Jesse trembling above him, high notes slipping out of his mouth on every exhale.

He stops sweeping his other palm over Jesse's rumbling chest to clasp it over Jesse's nape. The blond melts against him, guttural groan interrupting his purrs. He slides to his side when Saul directs it, and though the man is sure to avoid towering over Jesse, he remains pressed close. His hand slips away from Jesse's nape to cup the ball of his shoulder instead. "Jesse," he murmurs, and the blond nuzzles against Saul's temple contentedly.

"Have you ever…?" Saul trails off as his hand dips lower than Jesse's arousal, an inquisitive finger brushing lightly over his tight ring.

Jesse shakes his head in the negative. It's unfamiliar, the small twinges of sensation that spark along those nerves with each brush of Saul's finger. Saul never dips in, just brushes that spot, finger slick with pre. The repetitive motion soon blooms into warm pleasure that has purrs vibrating up Jesse's throat.

"Jesse, may I?"

Jesse agrees, nodding and reaching for Saul. The man presses into Jesse's space, kissing him with teasing flicks of his tongue before slipping away. Jesse makes a confused noise, but lets Saul out of his grasp and watches him dig into the nightstand. Saul quickly returns with a tube, uncapping it and coating his fingers with clear lube. He warms the gel between his fingers before returning to his task.

He carefully kneels on the bed again, clearly making an effort not to loom over the blond as he settles between Jesse's thighs. He rubs a soothing hand along Jesse's calf, looking up to lock eyes with him.

Jesse isn't nervous, but he definitely doesn't mind the comforting passes of Saul's broad palm over his ribs. The DA drops his right hand and continues to tease that tight furl of muscles with his slick finger. He must be able to sense the moment Jesse relaxes, because a beat later, his finger is effortlessly slipping in with a pleased hum from the lawyer.

"Good, sweetheart." Saul swallows audibly. "You're really tight."

Jesse blushes at the man's words, torn between focusing on that and the strange feeling of Saul rubbing against his walls firmly. The single digit strokes along every accessible spot, as though Saul is _searching _for something.

The blond reaches for Saul, but the man refuses to cage him in; Jesse assumes from fear of spooking him again. He growls and does a fluid abs crunch to bring his lips up to meet Saul's. The change in position _stabs_ him through with pleasure and he gasps against Saul's lips, cock bouncing against his stomach. He _keens_ when Saul's finger presses again against _something_ that makes liquid heat rush up his spine.

"_Saul,_" Jesse groans, clutching at the man's shoulder while he drops his other hand to his leaking cock. He strokes a couple times to ease the throbbing ache. "Oh, _fuck_."

"Is this the spot," Saul asks smugly, pressing relentlessly against that smooth wall hiding that sensitive bundle, shifting Jesse up into his lap, leaning back against the headboard.

Jesse pants harshly into the man's neck, mewling at the steady pulse of pleasure. His hips push back onto Saul's finger in rhythmic rolls without his permission, his body seeking the pleasure it craves. He braces himself over Saul on his knees, bracketing the DA's hips in. He drops his hips slightly, gut clenching at Saul's continued ministrations. He growls lightly, nipping at the man's bared throat, avoiding the stitches there. He drops both of his hands to gather his straining cock and Saul's in a steady grip, pressing both lengths together in the tunnel of his hands. The deep moan Saul offers along with the silky flesh of Saul's length against his makes Jesse's eyes slide shut on an answering moan. He pumps them in time with Saul's working hand, shuddering above the man.

"That's it, Jesse," he murmurs. "So tight. You're close."

Jesse can hear the man's smile and he pulls back from his hiding spot against the lawyer's neck to confirm it. He gives a quick twist of his wrist to watch Saul's features twist with pleasure instead.

"I can feel how close you are, darling," Saul says with another easy grin. Jesse's ears slant back to the sound of the tube flicking open again as Saul applies more slick to his hand. A second finger works its way in and the slight stretch makes Jesse drop his head again to Saul's neck, groaning.

This time, when Saul brushes against that spot, the sensation is nearly too much, all the sharper for the brief respite he had. Jesse's back arches, breath stuttering out of him when Saul's free hand rubs purposefully just above his tailbone. Jesse teeters on the edge, pleasure white hot when Saul leans up to tenderly take a pebbled nipple into his mouth.

Jesse's body spasms toward Saul's warm tongue just as his cock pulses wetly in his joined hands. He groans helplessly through his orgasm, pumping at his cock alongside Saul's. He can feel himself clenching around Saul's fingers and it makes heat rush up to his cheeks.

Saul groans against Jesse's chest, humming in approval. "Yes, good, Jesse," he murmurs, sweeping his tongue across to the second nipple. The lawyer bucks his hips twice into Jesse's hands, pulling Jesse closer when his cock spills alongside Jesse's.

Purring, Jesse gently strokes Saul through his release, movements slow and drugged in the aftermath of his orgasm. He mewls when the lawyer finally slips his fingers free of the blond's clenching hole, a lingering pleasure still seated deep within.

He melts in the DA's lap when Saul presses up to lick those small noises out of his mouth, pressing a broad palm against Jesse's vibrating chest.

"I originally came in here to tell you lunch is ready. You hungry? I'm starving. Let's eat."

A slow, drugged laugh escapes Jesse's throat. "Yeah, anything you want," he agrees genially.


	17. Chapter 17

Jesse wakes before Saul.

It's a fairly new experience, as all recent incidences involved Jesse blearily blinking awake to find Saul alert and watching over him. He presses his head into the plush pillow to look at Saul in the warm morning glow peeking from the curtains. In the night, they must have separated, but Saul's hand is resting between them, fingers nearly brushing Jesse's side, as though he were reaching for him in his sleep.

Jesse carefully rolls over, taking up Saul's hand and angling it between their chests so Jesse can better wrap his arm around the DA. He squeezes Saul lightly – can't help it, as affectionate as the man makes him feel – and shifts closer to cradle Saul against him.

Looking beyond the man's bare shoulder, Jesse spots the new frame adorning Saul's wall next to the postcards; his drawings are set behind the glass. He'd still like to work on them – they don't feel finished yet – but he's immeasurably pleased that Saul felt them worth _framing_. He nuzzles at Saul's neck, purring contentedly while he breathes Saul in, measured movements gentle against the sleeping man. Saul doesn't stir but to tilt his head in Jesse's direction. His breathing remains slow and deep.

Smiling, Jesse nuzzles against his jaw insistently, a deep-seated urge within him to _claim_ Saul. He knows it's a kitty-urge; had he the same physicality, he would be scent marking Saul with this gesture. While Saul _has_ taken on some of Jesse's scent through their close proximity the last couple days, it isn't _enough, _and the drive for _more _causes him to continue nuzzling. The repetitive motion doesn't get a reaction, so he moves up to Saul's temple. He noses at Saul's temple and releases a warm, contended exhale there after breathing in his fill.

Sluggishly, Saul strokes a palm made clumsy with sleep down Jesse's vibrating side, and mumbles, "Mmm, Jesse…"

Jesse turns his attention to Saul's neck again, tucking his head down where it fits comfortably between Saul's jaw and broad shoulder. He breathes in time with Saul, moving closer when the man turns to throw his arm and leg over Jesse's thin frame.

"Five more minutes," Saul murmurs, gathering Jesse to his chest. "I'll start breakfast in a few…"

Grinning, the blond slots himself neatly against the DA's sleep-warm body. He tucks the thin sheet around Saul, trailing his hand down Saul's spine in unhurried strokes over the soft material. He can feel the man's muscles losing what little tightness they had while he was awake enough to use them. He stretches up just far enough to fix his chin over Saul's head, tucking the lawyer's face against his neck. He runs his fingers through the man's hair, and can feel the precise moment Saul slips back into sleep, body falling lax against him and breaths deepening within his belly. Saul may have spent a portion of the previous night saving Jesse from nightmares, as the blond can't remember any; he's more than willing to offer Saul more rest.

Jesse's powerless to stop the deep, rumbling purr vibrating within his bruised chest. It's a bit frightening, being this _effortlessly happy_, without the help of his pipe. He nuzzles gently against the crown of Saul's head before burying his nose in the man's hair, content to listen to Saul's rhythmic breaths in the early morning calm.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

"Hey, kid," Saul calls from the kitchen, where he's working on a lasagna. The aroma teases at Jesse's nose, and though he's sure he's eaten more in the two days he's spent with Saul than the last two months alone, he finds that his stomach is growling.

Jesse hums in question around the flathead screwdriver he's got between his teeth, purring mildly as he works in the midday sun. When he'd asked about the books Saul was seemingly using to prop open his living room windows, Saul had sheepishly admitted that he'd 'broken' them a couple years back and that they now refused to stay up. Eager to finally be of some use, Jesse had assured him he could fix them, with a screwdriver and possibly WD-40 if they were really bad. Fitting the pins back into the tracks is easy; he'd had the same issue with several of Aunt Ginny's windows. He's already fixed one for Saul, rewarded for his efforts with a lengthy kiss by the DA. Just as he moves to take down the books propping the second window, his phone startles him with the com chirp.

The text from Mr White reads: **_Time to cook._**

Frowning, Jesse replies, **Not today.**

**_Yes, today. Stop wasting time._**

**I'm busy.**

**_Doing what? Nothing is more important at this time._**

**Busy.**

**_Listen, you little shit –_**

Jesse falters at those words. When he was younger, they'd always preceded a beating from Pops. He haltingly finishes reading the rest.

**_– we're meeting up. Out at the usual place. You have thirty minutes. _**

There's a clang from the kitchen that Jesse recognizes as the oven being opened.

The DA's voice drifts out to him again, "I was thinking…"

"Mm-hmm," Jesse offers when he realizes Saul is hesitating. He hurriedly types a stern **No. **back to Mr White before moving onto the second window. His phone chirps at him in a short burst of noise – multiple texts from his evidently pissed off ex-teacher. He silences his phone without pulling it free from his pocket. Mr White can throw all the fits he wants; Jesse much rather prefers Saul's company. He angrily pulls the books free, making quick work to slide the shoes up the frame before pounding the pins in with a couple careful strikes of his fist. He tests the window and grins when it easily slides and remains where it's put as proof of a job completed.

"I'm sure you're probably eager for your own space…"

Jesse's stomach drops, and though Saul is in the next room, he finds that he instinctively tucks his ears back, ducks his head and lowers his gaze. Of course Saul would want him outta his hair. He knew it would only be a matter of time before they had this conversation, but he finds that he's nowhere near prepared for it.

He swallows thickly and makes his way toward the kitchen. The least he can do is avoid making this any more awkward than it is. He's no way entitled to make claim of Saul's house, and he should leave gracefully, especially if Saul's felt the need to _ask him_ to go. He places the flathead on the kitchen table and stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets as he watches Saul move about the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure."

"Really? Great," Saul grins at him. "I was afraid it'd be…well, too much. But I'm glad you're on board."

"Yeah, it's no big deal. I uhm, actually do have a place I've been staying..." Jesse glances down to his socks – rather, _Saul's socks_, which he's borrowed. They've got Deadpool's logo scattered across them, and he couldn't resist snagging them from the drawer this morning. He wonders if he'll have to give them back before he returns to the Crystal Ship. Would Saul really miss them, if he took them?

Saul falters in laying out softened noodles over another layer of sauce and beef, glancing up at Jesse. One eyebrow is raised in confusion, his head tilted slightly. "…Oh?"

"It's not much, but uhm… Yeah, it's somethin'. So…"

"Oh, thank god." Saul flashes him a relieved grin. "I'm glad, kid. I was really worried that things were…bad. But that's a relief."

"Hah, yeah. So, I mean, y'know, if you want me to bail, I can totally leave…"

"What?" Saul frowns and fully turns to face the fidgeting blond. He wipes his hands on a tea towel on his way toward Jesse. He gathers Jesse in his arms, drawing the blond close but keeping him just far enough away that he can make sincere eye contact when Jesse skittishly looks up at him. "No, no, sweetheart. Christ, I don't want you to _leave_, Jesse. That's not what I'm saying. I want you to feel like you have room to breathe – I was offering to empty half of the dresser out for you, move stuff from the bedroom closet to the office closet. I'm not chasing you out." He tugs the blond closer, fitting Jesse tightly against him in a snug embrace. "I worded that all wrong," he says somberly. "I want you to _stay_, in a more permanent sense. But, I was afraid it was too bold a request, that you'd think it was too much, too fast." He huffs a self-deprecating laugh against Jesse's temple. "Figures; anytime I'm nervous and trying to save my own ass from embarrassment or harm, it usually means other people get hurt. I'm sorry, Jesse."

Jesse slumps against the lawyer in relief, offering a shaky laugh. He feels weightless without that particular sense of dread dragging him down. "Oh, man…" He wraps his arms around Saul in return, tucking his head against Saul's neck to scent him gratefully, pleased that it's still something he's allowed to do. "That's not what I thought you were askin' at all…"

"I'm sorry, Jesse," Saul repeats in a murmur, squeezing gently around the artist's shoulders, mindful of his ribs. "I want you to stay," he urges again. "You're free to leave, if you want," he says tightly, drawing the blond _closer_ despite the words, "I don't want you to feel _stuck_, but…I'd really like it if you decided to stay."

"I totally wanna stay," Jesse replies earnestly.

Saul turns his head a fraction of an inch to kiss Jesse's temple, and the blond can feel his smile there. The man slides a broad palm to fit snugly over the nape of Jesse's neck and the familiar touch is grounding. When the DA draws back just enough to make eye contact again, Jesse chooses not to comment on the wet shine to the lawyer's warm, blue gaze.

"Great, okay, good. Good, what's mine is yours," Saul says through his grin, leaning forward to kiss Jesse fondly.

When they part, Saul digs into the pocket of his dark jeans, pulling out a shiny silver key. He offers it to the blond with an easy smile.

Jesse hesitates a breath too long, staring at the house key in a mix of surprise and uncertainty. Saul's _serious_ about this. Has a key for him, wants him to come and go as he pleases. He slowly lifts his hand to take it, and steps closer when Saul reaches up to frame his hand in his own, pressing the key into it and folding Jesse's fingers over it.

He gives Jesse a quick kiss before he tugs Jesse toward the island by his occupied hand. "Help me finish up lunch, Jesse, and tell me about the place you've been staying?"

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

The lot is just as void of people as it ever is – there'd only been one time Jesse had run into another patron, and the experience had been awkward, with them both quickly ducking out of each other's sight. He's sure he isn't the only one to require the lot for illegal shit, but he hopes he doesn't come off as totally sketchy as he leads Saul away from the man running the check-in desk. His bruised face and defensive posture tells a story that contrasts with Saul's open smiles and neat suit.

The crunch of gravel underfoot seems unbearably loud – giving away his location – as he guides Saul across the lot. He fidgets with his keys and glances back a few times at the faithfully-following DA. He explained the Crystal Ship to the man, but sorta glossed over why it was so important to keep track of it, why he was unable to sell it for something practical. "So, uhm, this is it…" he offers lamely, fumbling to unlock the door. He can feel heat rushing to his face and knows it can't be attributed to the hot day and his heavy winter wear. He dreads showing Saul any of this, knows it isn't something to brag about, and he's terrified Saul will rethink his offer of letting Jesse stay with him once he realizes what a loser the blond truly is.

He leads Saul into the cramped cabin, tugging anxiously at the cuff of his hoodie sleeve. His rumpled bedroll is still laid out on the floor where he left it, a discarded shirt, empty soda bottle and gas mask scattered next to it. He shifts his weight awkwardly on the linoleum and side-eyes the boxes stacked along the side of the RV. They seem imposing after being away so long; they represent all of the stupid decisions he's made as of late, filled as they are with cooking supplies Mr White insisted on having. He jumps slightly when Saul abruptly folds him into a tight hug.

"_Jesse_," Saul chokes out past a tight throat.

Frowning, Jesse pulls back far enough to glance Saul over once, lingering on his stitches. "What? Are you okay?"

A pained noise slips out of the DA's throat, expression _sad_ when he pulls Jesse close again. It only serves to confuse Jesse further. Saul doesn't smell hurt, but there's something in his scent that's unfamiliar. He returns the embrace, tucking Saul close to him in concern.

"Grab anything you want to bring home; we'll come back for the rest of it later."

Saul's easy use of the word _home_ brings a grin to Jesse's face. He presses close for a breath, nuzzling against the man's throat.

"Uhm, well, most of it…" He isn't sure how Saul's gonna take this news, but he doesn't want to keep secrets from him. "It's…uhm, _supplies…_ We make our own product, the, uhm, the blue…"

Saul lifts a hand from the middle of Jesse's back to pick up a beaker sitting on a nearby stack of boxes. Polyurethane tubing hangs out of the topmost box like spider legs. Saul considers the clear tubing for a second before he turns the beaker over in his hand contemplatively. He eventually returns it.

"Just the things you want home, Jesse," he says, voice clear and calm.

Message received. It'll be no problem at all to separate work from home. He isn't going to involve Saul any more than he already has; the offer still stands to be part of this man's life, and Jesse's too grateful to mess it up by clinging to stuff he can live without.

"Sweet. Okay, cool. Thanks, thank you," he says hurriedly before slipping out of Saul's grasp to collect a couple of his personal boxes, sidestepping the ones that contain flasks and chemicals without a second thought. He shoves a few of his sketchbooks and loose drawings into one box – Saul might want to flip though them later – and grabs the only extra changes of clothes he's got to toss on top of another box.

Saul takes one box from him with a smile, leaning across it to kiss the artist with a gentle brush of lips.

Jesse eagerly follows him out, locking up while juggling the burden in his arms before loading the Cadillac with his meager possessions.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Saul returns to work tomorrow, and Jesse can't figure out a way to ask to come along. There's no way he's leaving Saul's side when a possible threat looms, but he also doesn't want Saul to tire of him, as they're always together. He considers following after the man leaves; it wouldn't take long to walk to the office if he hustles, but it would also mean he'd have to stay hidden all day to avoid an awkward situation. The thought itself is exhausting. There's been no word from Mike on the matter yet, but Jesse's tempted to contact the man for assistance in watching over Saul. This shit would be so much easier if he had a ride.

Saul is oblivious to Jesse's dilemma, looking through Jesse's sketches by lamplight, making contemplative noises and brushing one hand tenderly down Jesse's side while the television plays a Bond marathon.

Jesse stretches restlessly on the sofa, wriggling in frustration for a breath before settling again, head pillowed in Saul's lap. He considers which pockets would be easiest to access in a struggle, so that he can place his knives there in preparation. Probably one in his hoodie pocket and the second in his back pocket. The gun is fully loaded and fits comfortably in a side pocket, which will make concealment fairly easy; he tends to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest or his back arched too much to keep the gun at the small of his back without it showing.

That decided, he falls back to his transportation issue. If he leaves early enough, he might even beat Saul to the office. He just needs an excuse to be out of the house that early. He mulls over a few, but they all seem flimsy. It's difficult to concentrate with Saul massaging lightly behind his ears, warm pleasure dripping down past his stitches toward his neck. He growls lightly and tugs Saul's hand forward and locks it against his chest, watching over the man's wrist as Sean Connery straps himself into a jet pack. His plan backfires when Saul simply takes to brushing the tips of his fingers lightly across his neck and up toward the underside of his chin.

Jesse's eyes slip shut of their own accord and a purr trips up his throat. His ears flick back to the sound of Saul chuckling warmly and he dazedly opens his eyes.

"There you are, sweetheart. What have you been thinking about? It didn't seem like you were in a very good place." The DA's features are relaxed, lips curled up fondly as he continues to coax that rhythmic rumble from the blond.

Jesse blinks up at him, taking a deep breath of Saul's familiar woodsy scent interwoven with the crisp night air drifting in from the open windows he'd repaired. He hesitates, content to let this moment stretch a few heartbeats longer.

Saul doesn't push him any further than murmuring, "Darling," as he brushes his thumb against Jesse's jaw.

Breaking eye contact, Jesse glances to the television again. "Tomorrow… I don't want you going alone," he finally admits to the open window.

"Will you accompany me, then?" Saul asks.

The familiar teasing lilt is absent from Saul's voice, and Jesse peeks up at him again to find the man looking honestly curious. Jesse nods. "Yeah, if that's cool. I want to, uhm…"

"Watch over me," Saul offers.

Grinning, Jesse agrees. "Yeah. Which would be easier if I were like, with you, at the office."

"I'd love to have you along, Jesse." Saul brushes his thumb along the column of Jesse's throat, smiling when the blond tilts his head to offer more. "Besides, Francesca will be glad to see you again; she finds you just as adorable as I do."

Groaning, Jesse twists around on the sofa to hide his face in Saul's shirt. He grins despite himself when Saul laughs, scent taking on a lighter, sweeter tint. He moves up to kiss Saul, but it isn't quite enough distraction to stop Saul from chuckling intermittently. The DA gathers him close, cradling him against his chest, arms gentle bands along his bruised ribs.

"Alright, now that you're back with me," Saul murmurs against Jesse's crown, snaking one arm free to retrieve the sketchbook, "tell me about this one."

Jesse glances over his shoulder to see one of his recent drawings opened before him – a character study with several sketches of a lanky robot with loose wiring and missing panels to expose cogs and gears. "Okay, so, he's part of the robot army, but he was damaged in such a way that he becomes sentient beyond his programming. His circuitry is so fried that he thinks he's human…"

He spends the rest of the night curled up in Saul's lap, head tucked under the DA's chin while he explains his drawings to him, nipping lightly at the man's jaw when he laughs a little too hard at any sketch or story. The steady purr that vibrates along his ribs keeps Saul pressed close, one arm wrapped snugly around the blond as he nods and urges Jesse to continue in a gentle murmurs.


	18. Chapter 18

The whole ride to the office, Jesse is silent, thoughts whirring and heart beating wildly in his chest as he stares out the window. The scenery flies past him in a blur. He startles when Saul, for the second time, cups a warm palm around Jesse's nape.

"Kid, easy. I feel like I'm in one of those hydraulic cars, with all the bouncing your leg is doing."

Saul spares him a warm glance at the red light. He squeezes lightly at Jesse's nape and returns his attention to the road when the light changes. "It's going to be alright," he says in a deep murmur.

Jesse sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. "Sorry," he mumbles, forcing his leg still again. He spends the last half of the drive stealing glances of Saul. The man seems as relaxed as he ever is, features calm and scent at the same, addicting baseline. When the DA catches him looking, he flashes a fond smile, eyes crinkling and scent deepening with a warm rush of woodsy musk.

Jesse mirrors the smile, the first to glance away to the windshield, a splash of color to his cheeks and a purr rumbling along his ribs.

When they arrive at the office, Saul leans across the console to kiss Jesse, a warm brush of lips and a teasing swipe of his tongue. Just before he draws away, he cheekily tugs Jesse's beanie down over his eyes and quickly scrambles out of the car with a fond laugh.

Torn between laughing and growling, Jesse shoves the beanie back into place and blinks a couple times as he exits the car. He catches Saul at the door as the man fumbles with the keys again. He draws the DA close, affection making him feel so light that he needs to hold the lawyer just to anchor himself here. He returns the man's kiss, though far less chaste than Saul tends to begin with, before nosing fondly at the man's throat.

The man's scent takes on that same, sweet, light tint that Jesse's learned to recognize as him being happy. His arms are warm where they wrap around Jesse. He lets his eyes slide shut as he presses closer contentedly.

Only when a car drives noisily and obliviously by does Jesse straighten up and glance out to the empty lot. This isn't the time, and out here they're vulnerable. The whole ride up, he'd been prepared to act as a bodyguard, but he's allowed Saul to distract him. He nuzzles one last time at Saul's jaw before stepping back, dropping his hand to finish unlocking the door.

He steps through first, freeing his ears from his beanie to listen to the empty building, scenting the air warily. Nothing seems out of place, and no foreign smells or sounds greet him, so he steps into the lobby and turns to see Saul in. He watches as the DA bends down to gather his briefcase and a box he definitely didn't have a minute ago.

The brunet sweeps past Jesse and sets the box down on Francesca's desk. From an office caddy he lifts a letter opener and turns toward the box, preparing to run the thin blade through the tape sealing it shut.

"Is that, uhm, something you ordered?" Jesse asks, absentmindedly letting the door swing shut as he watches Saul.

"Nope. It was out front. I'm marked as the recipient, though."

"_What_?" Jesse jumps forward to catch Saul's hand before the man can put the letter opener to use. "Whoa, hey, you're just gonna _open_ an _unmarked_ package?"

Saul frowns at him, lifting one eyebrow and nodding, "Well, yeah. What else am I to do with it?"

"Haven't you seen, like, any cop movie ever? You don't open unknown deliveries, dude, they're typically _bombs_."

Saul glances down uncertainly to the box sitting quietly on the counter. "You really think someone would—"

"Hell, I dunno," Jesse cuts in, "but you should be careful." He leans forward, pressing an ear to the box, but hears absolutely nothing. He sniffs at it, along the seams, and only detects cardboard, glue, paper, and a clean, blank scent like glass. It's not enough to convince him either way, and as he's turning to tell Saul just that, his ears flick back to the distinct sound of a knife cutting through tape. He blanches and watches dumbly as the DA runs the blade of the letter opener through the parallel sides of the lid.

The DA reveals a bottle of scotch, rich in color and a slip of white paper nestled within the crumpled tan packing paper.

"_Dude,_" Jesse growls.

"What were we going to do, Jesse, call a bomb squad? Over scotch?"

The blond frowns. He's not quite sure what the plan would have been, and if any bitch-ass cops had been involved, he'd have had to make himself scarce, but that woulda been better than Saul setting a bomb off in his face.

Saul is distracted by the whisky, so Jesse has enough time to shake himself of his shock and snatch the slip of paper to read the single line scrawled by hand which reads:

**_To compensate for all your trouble_**

There's no return address, the back of the note is blank, and nothing else is in the box. The lack of information has him eyeing the bottle in Saul's hands warily. "Who woulda sent you this?"

"No clue, kid. Maybe a grateful client?" he offers with a sly grin, "_Real _grateful? This bottle's twenty-five years old."

Jesse is still painfully new to the whole bodyguard thing, and the bomb threat had been a wild swing and a miss, but the possibility of poison is still a threat, which only occurs to him after he considers for a moment how Mike would handle the situation. It isn't difficult to fake a seal on a bottle, and he's had his own experience with poison – it wouldn't be much of a challenge to get to Saul this way, especially with how taken the man seems by the offering, and the thought makes his blood freeze. He determinedly tells Saul, "We're pouring that out."

"What? The hell we are. Do you know how much this single malt costs?"

"Nah, don't care, either," Jesse returns. He's used to a wide range, usually with Badger's cabinet having the most expensive variety, but more often drinking cheap shit from a corner liquor store or gas station. To protect Saul, however, Jesse is willing to pay any amount demanded of him. "Anything you need, Saul, anything you _want_ I can get you," the blond says sternly, staring pointedly at Saul as he tugs his beanie back into place. He patiently holds out a hand and waits until Saul resignedly hands the bottle over with a sigh.

Jesse gives Saul a triumphant grin before leaning in to kiss him fleetingly. He makes a quick sweep of the rest of the building, clutching the neck of the bottle in a tight fist the entire time. The last room he hits is the breakroom, in which he pours out the scotch and chases it with cool water down the sink while memorizing the label to get Saul a replacement later. He gathers the box and pitches both it and the empty bottle in the dumpster out back, stuffing the note in his hoodie before truly looking at the alley. There are two dumpsters and they face each other, with a few bags of trash thrown carelessly outside one of them. The alley is open on both ends, but the clutter gathered at this door makes him anxious; there are a lot of places to hide here, and he prefers his exit routes clean. He doesn't want any surprises, so he shoves his hoodie sleeves up and drags one dumpster toward the other on stubborn, ungreased wheels. He pushes and tugs over uneven pavement until they sit next to each other. He bins the random trash bags and turns back to the breakroom. He washes up, listening to the front door opening followed by the sound of Saul greeting his receptionist.

Francesca greets Jesse cheerily from the lobby while she hangs her thin jacket.

"Morning," he returns, surprised for a moment at the notable lack of perfume the woman is wearing. The first time he'd met her, it had been so strong it had made him sick. Saul must have talked to her after he'd whined to the DA later that night. He steals another glance at the lawyer; the man sits behind his desk, sorting out a few files, already absorbed in his work.

"What's his problem today," Francesca asks, startling the blond into whipping back around to face her. "He seems kinda moody."

Jesse considers the empty bottle of scotch in the dumpster and frowns. "Nothing that can't be fixed," he says. "Sometimes Saul pouts when he doesn't get his way."

Francesca laughs and turns to the phone to begin retrieving voicemails from the blinking machine. "Oh, '_sometimes,' _he says, as though Saul isn't a three-year-old all the time."

"Hey," the DA calls from his office without looking up from the file in his hands, "I can hear you two just fine over here."

Jesse grins at the man and retreats to Saul's office, one last comment from Francesca chasing him there.

"It's nothing you don't already know, Saul," she calls teasingly.

Jesse rounds the desk and crowds into the frowning man's space, laughing lightly at the irritated noise Saul makes. He presses close, nuzzling and purring against Saul, upsetting his suit collar and mussing his hair with his nose and chin, until Saul finally pushes him away with a laugh.

"Alright, alright," he says with a grin. "You're forgiven. Go find something to do, you noisy little motorbike." He smoothes a hand down Jesse's cheek fondly before he returns his attention to his files.

Jesse fixes Saul's collar with a flick of his wrist, and leisurely cards his hand through the man's hair to right it as he slips behind the DA. He pushes Saul's briefcase and a small box of files against the wall to free up the area behind and under the desk. He places an errant stack of books upright on Saul's desk, and spots two bookends that are serving as shelf decoration; he puts them to use to keep the books in place. They're fairly plain looking: wrought iron twisted in organic loops in a loose L shape with a featureless orb cradled within the juncture, but they have a fair amount of weight to them and Jesse swings one in experimentation.

Saul glances up at him curiously, taking in the slight changes and watching as the blond hefts the bookend in his hand again. "Whatcha doin', kid?"

Jesse hands the bookend over. "If things go south here, I want you to use that to defend yourself."

Saul looks down to the bookend in his hand and frowns. "You want me to brain someone with a bookend? What is this, Clue?"

The blond continues as if Saul hadn't spoken, "And if that option fails, I want you to duck under or behind your desk – there's space now."

The DA sets the bookend down on his desk and stands up, placing a warm hand over the ball of Jesse's shoulder. "Jesse, everything's going to be alright."

Jesse shakes his head. If Bustamante is anything like Tuco was, then they should be ready for unpredictable shit. The building has two exits, one in the lobby and the other in the breakroom toward the alley behind the building, and if he isn't able to get Saul out the front, then at least the alley is a little clearer. "I'm quick, but if they're quicker, I need you to be ready."

Something in Jesse's haunted gaze must be enough to convince the lawyer, as Saul eventually nods, easy grin dropping into a firm line. "Alright, kid. I'll follow your lead."

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse spends the day on Saul's office sofa, in the seat nearest Saul with a direct eye on clients in the guest chairs. He keeps his face schooled into an impassive expression, sharp gaze tracking every movement from the numerous strangers that walk through the door. He scents the air regularly and keeps his ears tuned for any unexpected change in tone of voice or breathing pattern.

Saul greets everyone by name, sometimes accompanied by a handshake, and is sure to enunciate clearly, likely for Jesse's benefit. During lulls in conversations, Jesse can feel Saul's comforting eyes on him, but the blond doesn't dare look away from any of the potential threats in their space.

They're nearly four hours in before their first incident. The client, a Jason Mulligan, has steadily grown more agitated the longer the meeting has gone on; darting insecure glances in Jesse's stony direction and steadily increased tone toward Saul anytime he replies to the DA.

Mulligan finally snaps, "If you're not even going to try, man, then I don't know why I'm here!" He shoots up out of his seat, glaring at the DA.

Jesse is already rising before the man is fully standing, a guttural growl shaking loose from his chest emphasized with a vicious flash of teeth. His ears snap back beneath his beanie and he rolls his shoulders forward, shifting his center of gravity to prepare for a fight. The weapons concealed within his pockets burn with potential.

Mulligan shrinks back from Jesse immediately, wide eyes locked on the furious blond and posture anything but threatening. His hands are drawn up defensively, far from any pocket or weapon, and the bitch looks like he may piss himself.

"Enough," Saul says, voice authoritative and sharp despite the fact that he hasn't raised his voice at all.

Jesse pulls back a bit, eyes still locked on Mulligan but the growl dropping to a steady grumbling in his chest, distinctly different from the gentle rumble of purring. The man across from him must still sense the danger he's in because he hasn't made any move since Jesse stood.

"Mr Mulligan, I ask that you leave now. I'm willing to look over your case again, but as it stands, the plea bargain I've presented is your best option. You _have_ stolen, Mr Mulligan, and the evidence against you is heavy. To avoid a lengthy jail sentence, I suggest you reconsider. We'll discuss it again next Wednesday, if you're so inclined."

"Yeah, Wednesday, whatever," Mulligan mumbles. He edges past Jesse and out the door quickly without a backwards glance.

Jesse's growl dies at the sound of the front door closing behind the client. He chances a glance at Saul to find the man frowning sharply, expression drawn and jaw tight.

The blond sighs resignedly, dropping back into his seat and dragging a hand down his face.

"Jesse," Saul says, coming to a stop before the sulking blond.

Jesse ducks his head, ears slanting back once more but under another emotion. He knows he's fucked up now; Saul may even reconsider letting him stay. He realizes in the aftermath that Mulligan was far from a threat in any sense, and his reaction was extreme. In hindsight, he treated a whiney client like a gun-totting maniac, and for all that Saul likes theatrics, this is the man's livelihood Jesse is fucking around with.

"Jesse," Saul repeats, gently. He kneels before the blond, looking up into Jesse's downcast eyes.

Jesse slants his gaze away from the DA's open expression, tugging anxiously on his hoodie sleeve.

"Kid, look at me," Saul murmurs, a tender hand falling over Jesse's fidgeting ones. He squeezes once before running his thumb over Jesse's knuckles.

The blond hesitantly meets Saul's gaze, swallowing down his shame with difficulty.

Saul smiles at him, expression as warm as it ever is. "Are you okay?"

Jesse falters at the question, a confused sound escaping his throat. He was expecting yelling, or even angry accusations – which would have been well-deserved – but Saul is always tripping up his sure footing with questions like that. He doesn't make a move to reply, unsure of what he'd even say. His delay prompts Saul to speak again.

"Sweetheart, I can't have you chasing off my clients," Saul says with a huff of amused breath. "I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. But if you watch criminals like they're _criminals_, then you're going to get defensive outbursts like that from ninety percent of my clientele."

Saul reaches up for Jesse's cheek, and it speaks volumes that Jesse responds by only drawing back a breath away rather than the sharp flinches of a week ago. He presses into Saul's warm hand once it cups the side of his face.

The lawyer smoothes this thumb across Jesse's cheek with another fond smile. "Those beautiful eyes of yours," he murmurs. "It's indescribable, being your sole focus; to have those eyes looking only at _me,_" he says, stretching up to kiss Jesse fleetingly. When he draws back, his lip is curled up into a conspiring smirk. "But I'm sure for my clients, being your sole focus is _intimidating_."

"Sorry, Saul," Jesse finally rasps out, throat tight in both guilt and the affection warring in his chest. Saul is being so _gentle_ in the face of his mistake, and Jesse feels the urge to _hide_ from it. He bends in double to bury his face against Saul's neck, effectively avoiding the man's loving gaze.

The DA's scent spikes with the same, unfamiliar earthy smell it had in the Crystal Ship. Jesse still isn't sure how to categorize it, but it quickly loses his interest once Saul takes to lightly dragging the pads of his fingers over Jesse's nape. Saul's other hand travels the line of his spine and he turns to kiss Jesse's temple just below the edge of his beanie.

"Now's as good a time as any to break for lunch, hmmm?"

The hum is akin to a purr from the lawyer and Jesse reflects it with his own, pressing closer. Saul calls over his head toward the lobby, instructing Francesca to close up shop.

"You've got one more coming in, boss," she replies a moment before the door opens.

Saul sighs audibly, nosing at Jesse's temple. "One more, darling, and then we'll take a break." He coaxes Jesse from his hiding spot, kissing him tenderly while standing, effectively drawing Jesse's posture upright again to keep their lips connected. He breaks away with a warm smile, squeezing lightly at Jesse's nape. "It'll be alright," he murmurs again.

Jesse is looking up at Saul adoringly; all focus on this amazing man rather than the office door like he should be. It's the only reason he's slow to notice who's arrived.

"Hello, Mr Goodman. My name is Ethan Williams, and I—_Jesse?_"

Jesse looks up at the sound of his name, ears flicking up at the familiar, gruff voice. He blinks dumbly at Mr White, stunned for a handful of breaths by the surreal sight of his ex-teacher standing in Saul's office. He watches the man's surprised expression shift into something calculating and dark. Jesse swallows, darting his eyes to Saul, who watches the exchange with a critical eye.

Saul offers his hand, a plastic smile in place as he says, "Hello, Mr Williams. What brings you to my office?"


	19. Chapter 19

Jesse shrinks back toward Saul without conscious thought, pinned under Mr White's disbelieving stare. Saul immediately steps forward, effectively drawing Mr White's attention away. Jesse watches the men shake hands, Mr White's eyes narrowed considerably, and Saul's expression closed off like Jesse's never seen it before. Had Jesse not experienced first-hand just how tender Saul can be, he'd never expect it from the stranger wearing the sharp, blank mask the DA is wearing now. The man's eyes are shuttered off completely and Jesse can't help staring bewilderedly at the unexpected transformation.

"I was directed here by a mutual acquaintance," Mr White explains. "I'm seeking…legal advice. But that can wait. I'd be happy to set up an appointment, at a later date." Mr White glances down to Jesse and raises an eyebrow.

Jesse stands uncertainly at the wordless summons. He glances at Saul for a beat before Mr White steals his attention again.

"We have a time-sensitive…business meeting," he tells the blond. "Let's go."

Saul's posture shifts subtly at the wording, and Jesse thinks Saul may have figured out his connection to Mr White before he even gets the chance to explain. In all his brief explanations of what he does for money, he's mentioned a business partner, but never by name. Saul knows enough of his 'work' at this point to solve the equation himself: partner X = Mr 'Williams.'

"What, now?"

Mr White frowns. "Yes. It is of the utmost importance."

"I'm kinda busy, Mr Wh—uhm—Williams. Can't it wait?"

"No, we're already late. You've had ample time to make arrangements."

Jesse frowns, lips set in a hard line.

"_Now, _Jesse. Come along," he says sternly, heavy hand slithering up to clamp around Jesse's nape like the jaws of a snake.

The blond freezes, the shock of the foreign palm—_not Saul; only Saul's allowed—_making his stomach twist uncomfortably. A small whine slips from his throat before he can cut it off just as Mr White turns to yank him toward the door. Their trek is abruptly stopped when Saul grips Mr White's wrist firmly; Jesse can hear the bones in Mr White's wrist grind in protest at the pressure as his hand is unceremoniously removed.

"I ask that you do not inconvenience Jesse in any manner, Mr Williams," Saul states calmly, eyes as forgiving as a frozen lake. He eventually releases Mr White's wrist when the man makes no move to respond. His expression softens considerably when he looks to Jesse, brows slanting marginally, a silent question: _okay?_

The blond smiles at him gratefully, dropping his chin for a second in a subtle, reassuring nod. He checks his expression when Mr White turns his glare to him again.

"I'll be in the car," he says sternly, "you have one minute." His ex-teacher turns from them and storms out of the office, Francesca's cheery goodbye going unanswered by the man.

"That's my business partner, under another fake name apparently, because that's what we're doing now," Jesse mumbles, just in case it's necessary to update Saul. He moves on quickly after Saul's nod; Mr White isn't what he wants to talk about in their allotted minute. He reaches into his side pocket, retrieving the gun and pressing it into Saul's hands. "Here, take this."

"What? No," Saul protests, pushing it back with a flat palm. "I don't need it. I'll be _fine,_ Jesse."

"Please, Saul," Jesse begs, pushing the gun into the DA's hand insistently. "You know how to shoot, right?"

"Yeah, but, kid, odds are you're gonna need this more than me; you're a magnet for—"

"I'll be fine. I don't like to—I uhm, I won't…" The thought of shooting someone still makes him squeamish. The feeling must flit across his face because Saul eventually relents.

Saul sighs heavily, setting the gun on his desk. "Even if I _do_ use it, the cops aren't going to appreciate the lack of a serial number," he mutters.

"Well, I'm hoping you _won't _have to use it. Listen, I'm not sure what's going to happen. If Mike hasn't made a connection with Bustamante yet, I want him here to watch you."

"That's not necessary, kid. It's going to be fine."

A loud series of honks from a car horn earns a frown from Saul and an irritated groan from Jesse. He doesn't want to part from Saul, but he knows to keep Mr White waiting will only result in a pile of barbed rants and passive aggressive behavior.

Jesse grips the ball of Saul's shoulder, pleading, "Saul, call him. Please. I can't be in two places at once." He knows he must look pitiful, because Saul's body language immediately warms to him and his expression softens.

"Don't worry, sweetheart." Saul gathers Jesse into his arms securely, one hand slipping into place against his nape. The familiar touch is welcome, soothing Jesse's frayed nerves. The ghost feeling of Mr White's aggressive palm there is successfully dashed to the wind.

Jesse leans toward him, a small purr rumbling along his ribs. He nuzzles against Saul's jaw, unsure of when he'll get the chance again.

Saul smiles and murmurs into his temple through his beanie, "Be careful, Jesse."

Jesse's heart clenches painfully in his chest. It's not a goodbye, but it feels like one. It seems heavy, and final. The thought of abandoning Saul only to come back to find the lawyer hurt or _worse_ makes his heart jump in his chest frightfully. He buries his face in Saul's neck. The man's scent is so _warm _and _loving. _He crushes Saul to his chest for a breath, parting with a quick kiss. "I'll see you later," he promises.

"Yes. Drop in anytime," Saul returns, gaze weighted, and his grip slow in letting Jesse slip free.

Jesse can feel Saul's benevolent gaze on him the entire way past Francesca – waving at the woman when she tells him to come back soon – and out to Mr White's car. He steals a glance at the office as he buckles into the passenger seat to find Saul standing at the door, expression a blank mask once more.

"Jesse," Mr White grits out, "your recent disregard for my texts is unacceptable."

The blond sighs. "It's only been a couple days."

"A lot has happened in that time," he returns harshly. "I know you don't have the head for Bigger Picture stuff, but I've been working on the business while you've been off playing."

It's silent for a moment while the teacher starts the car, leaving the lot, and _Saul_ behind.

"Why'd you come to the DA's office," Jesse asks after a beat, curiosity urging the words from his mouth. There's no way Mr White could have known he'd be there. He realizes belatedly that Saul never explicitly agreed to call Mike. He slips his phone from his pocket, texting Saul down near his hip and the door, where Mr White can't see. **Contact Mike. Get someone to watch you while I'm gone.**

"One of your little friends suggested I meet Goodman to possibly launder money."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure it's a good idea," Mr White says gruffly.

"Why?"

The man sighs. "Because…that lawyer doesn't seem…all that reliable."

"What?" Jesse gives a huff of amused breath. "You met him for, like, two minutes."

"First impressions, Jesse. We'll find someone else."

Jesse sneaks a glance at the man to find him grinding his teeth. The blond narrows his eyes. "First impressions? You were going to go to him anyway; it's only a problem now because I knew him first? He's a _criminal _lawyer, y'know? He'd be a lot of help." His phone vibrates in his clenched hand and he peeks at Saul's response: **_I'm fine, kid. Don't worry._**

Mr White doesn't respond for a moment, teeth clenched and eyes stubbornly focused on the road. "That's not our immediate concern, anyway. We'll discuss it later."

"Yo, what's your problem?" Jesse glares at Mr White, while typing out a response: **Saul. I'm serious. Please.**

"I found a new buyer. We're expected to supply him two pounds by the end of the week. I was hoping to have already started, but you refused to respond to any of my texts," Mr White growls.

Jesse frowns and stares out the window, refusing to rise to the bait. There's no reason he should have to explain himself. It's a huge order, though – Tuco level. So instead he asks, "Who's the buyer?"

"Goes by the name Bustamante. I haven't been able to get a first name out of him, yet. Anyone within his presence only refers to him as Bustamante."

The blond misses half of the cancer patient's answer, blood draining from his face at the first mention of Tuco's cousin. His phone vibrates again, but he doesn't check, too busy turning disbelieving eyes to Mr White and staring at him for a handful of breaths. "Y-you… What? No. Yo, do you _know who that is_?"

Mr White gives an exasperated sigh. "Jesse, regardless of his connections to Tuco, Bustamante is offering a reasonable price for our product, and he'll be able to move it more effectively than we've been able to as of late." The man flicks his gaze to Jesse in irritation before looking back to the road.

Jesse shakes his head. "What the _fuck_, Mr White? We got his cousin _killed, _yo! You think he's just gonna be okay with that shit?"

"Bustamante knows his cousin was killed by a DEA agent. He understands that it was just another hazard of this business."

"Have you been sampling the product," Jesse asks between clenched teeth. "You can't be thinking straight. Dude, you don't think Bustamante isn't gonna, oh, I don't know, _connect the fucking dots? _You gave him the name Heisenberg, yeah? He probably thinks we grassed up Tuco to the DEA and it went bad. He's a threat if he figures we're gonna do the same to him."

"I've detailed our escape from that situation, omitting our altercation with Tuco. He figures it was a case of luck, and that we were on the same side when Tuco was killed. He has no reason to suspect."

"Hell, if you wanna die that bad, you go right ahead, man, and if you wanna go to Mexico so bad, you and Bustamante can skip off into the fucking sunset together. Anytime you like. Why do I have to be dragged into this shit?"

"As long as you don't make any stupid decisions, this deal should work out fine," the bald man growls.

"I don't think it's _me_ we have to worry about as far as stupid moves go, man. _I'm _not the one that evidently has trouble learning lessons," Jesse growls. Saul's response reads: **_Alright. See you at home later._**The text serves as a balm to Jesse's frayed nerves. The knowledge that Mike will look out for Saul, and that he still has a home to go to after this disaster is enough to allow a little more air into his lungs.

"No?" Mr White laughs humorlessly. "As far as mistakes go—"

Before the man can drop into a biting rant, Jesse grumbles, "Whatever, dude. Let's just get this over with. Don't cry to me if we end up with a gun in our face."

Mr White snorts derisively, but the rest of the ride is blessedly quiet.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

As Jesse loads the last of the glass into Mr White's car, he takes a moment to lean tiredly. Three and a half days of solid cooking, with only breaks to sleep or eat junk food while batches settled. Any time he'd slowed a bit, Mr White had barked at him, furious voice muffled by the gas mask with a heavy dose of accusations. The stinging swats to his head were loud and clear, though; they had a deadline to meet, and they were behind due to _Jesse_. Mr White couldn't risk to spend any more than the three days from his family now, but they could have spread out smaller sessions throughout the week _if only Jesse had text back_. If Jesse was _more dedicated_ they wouldn't be in this mess.

Now that they're finally done, Jesse can feel the full extent of the last three days catching up with him. He yawns, mewing and dragging a tired hand down his face before coughing weakly into his fist. He's in need of a shower, his muscles ache and he feels like he could effortlessly slip into a coma given the chance. He feels dizzy, but he's not sure if it's due to the improper meals or the steady cook time spent without fresh air or a gas mask. He's never cooked this aggressively his entire life. He knows without question that he'd be feeling far worse if not for the care and hearty home-cooked meals Saul provided him the last few days.

The Crystal Ship is now parked in _another _lot that Jesse won't be able to use again because Mr White knows of it, and he rattles his tired brain to think of another lot he can switch to later today. He wasn't able to convince Mr White to meet up again tomorrow in time for the trade; the man was strangely insistent that they stay together. He doesn't know what Mr White has in mind for the rest of the evening, but he truly wishes he could bow out of any inane activities meant to kill time. He isn't looking forward to the walk back to the Crystal Ship tonight – he might be able to wheedle Mr White into dropping him off somewhere near the lot but it's not likely. The man seems just as eager to be rid of Jesse as Jesse is to go home. Most of his stuff's been moved to Saul's, but the bedroll is still bundled in the driver's seat at the very least. He can rough another night if necessary. He doesn't dare risk Saul's safety after Mr White's cold reaction to the DA, doesn't dare ask for a ride to the kind man's house.

All he wants is Saul, though. He's tired, and hungry, and he misses Saul's voice. And his eyes. And his scent. And his hands. And his laugh. Jesse's lips tug up into a tired smile. It's a small mercy that Mr White unknowingly avoided his stitches the entire cook, and consciously avoided his nape ever since his altercation with Saul. Jesse can't help the rush of pride in Saul to shake up someone like Mr White with just a look and stern tone. It's nearly enough to roll his breathing into purrs, but he resists. Without Saul near, the act seems too vulnerable.

He misses Saul, and the texts haven't been enough these past few days. He's been able to relax since Saul's confirmation that, yes, he did call Mike, and yes, he has a bodyguard standing post in his lobby until closing each night. Jesse knows his responses to the DA have gradually dwindled to one word replies in reflection of Mr White's mood and his own exhaustion. He feels guilty, but it's worth it to avoid Mr White's anger at Jesse's _frequent breaks_ and _tendency to waste time_. His phone battery has been in the red the last twelve hours and he knows he's on borrowed time, expecting any moment now to hear it shut down. He chances another text to Saul quickly: **Almost done. Home soon.** He turns the screen off as soon as he can, hoping he's saved enough juice to at least read Saul's response, if there is one. He tucks the phone into his pocket again and waits while Mr White pays the lot fee.

He's slumped against the car on tired feet, dozing with his head bowed to his chest when he's jolted awake by the car shaking with a slam of the door and the engine suddenly roaring to life as Mr White starts it. The man doesn't say anything, but he does give Jesse enough time to get into his seat before they take off.

"Why can't I stay here again?" Jesse asks drowsily, coughing into his fist.

"He's agreed to make the exchange today. I have the address," Mr White says in way of explanation as he eases the car into traffic.

"Thought the meet was tomorrow," Jesse mumbles, struggling with his seat belt which is stupid, and uncooperative, and _stupid_. They're out of the lot and past two stop signs before the damn belt finally clicks into place.

"A sign of good will, Jesse. We'll make the exchange early. It also saves me from having to find an excuse tomorrow to leave the house again."

"Yeah, why pay for a week when you can get two assholes to do the work in three days," Jesse mumbles toward the road out his window. "He's gonna expect the same return all the time."

"He gave us a week – _you _whittled it down to three days," Mr White reminds him with a snarl.

Jesse yawns in response, quieting his mew in his hoodie sleeve. "Fine, second argument against: you really wanna meet this guy when we're half dead and stinking of chemicals? Some impression, Mr First Impressions, and if he pulls some crazy shit, being less than one-hundred percent is gonna suck." Jesse scrubs his hand down his face, blinking gritty eyes with a tired sigh.

Mr White doesn't respond. Despite the silence and his exhaustion, Jesse isn't able to sleep. His first ride with Saul – a _stranger_ at the time – had been so full of _concern_ and _warmth_ that he'd been asleep before he could fight it. This ride now is tense, and he's sitting closer to Mr White than he's willing stood next to him the last three days. He'd only forgotten once that he wasn't with _Saul_ in a _safe place_ when he inadvertently invaded Mr White's space and had gotten barked at for it, shoved away with an irritated glare.

He looks listlessly out his window, catching a glimpse of himself in the side mirror. He looks more like a raccoon than a cat, what with the dark smudges ringing his eyes from exhaustion and healing bruises. He tugs his hood over his beanie before dropping his gaze from the uncomfortable sight and watching blearily as Mr White fumbles with the radio dial for a moment, jumping stations in a garbled mess of music. When the man lands on a rock station – the same one Saul tends to listen to on their drives – Jesse finally feels his heavy eyes drifting shut again. As though the thought of him was his summoning, Saul sends a text that reads: **_If I make lasagna again, will that bring you home sooner? _**

A tired smile splays across Jesse's lips after reading it. He types back: **Yes. Miss you. **He shuts off the screen quickly again, a familiar warmth settling in his chest. He dips his head to his sternum, slumping toward the passenger door. He's out by the time War Pigs slips into the guitar riff.


	20. Chapter 20

Jesse comes to with a start, jerking forward into his unforgiving seat belt when Mr White suddenly slams on the breaks.

"Is this it? This can't be it," Mr White grumbles to himself, glancing out the window with a contemplative frown.

Jesse rubs absently at his chest where the belt caught him, coughing into a loose fist as he takes in their surroundings. All of the buildings look like typical living complexes, six floors tall, walls surprisingly free of graffiti, and balconies empty and pristine. The long stretch of grass lining the front of them is well-tended to and the bushes are trimmed. The first thing Jesse notices is the suspicious lack of anyone, either in the lot or entering any of the buildings. It feels sketchy, _too _perfect, like something from a movie set, and Jesse hesitates indecisively before he says, "Yo, this feels like—"

"Hurry up," Mr White growls, dragging the bags forward and dumping one of them in Jesse's lap.

The blond frowns, warily exiting the car after Mr White, scenting the air and straining his ears. This would be the perfect space for a set-up; the lot plan is open, there aren't any places to hide, and assuming they get cut off from the car, there would be no way to escape without being easily intercepted before they could break into the residential area beyond. They could be walking straight into a trap, arms heavy with a pound of meth each, unknowingly surrounded by a vigilant DEA squad.

As they near the building, Jesse catches a flash of movement in one of the windows. He's so focused on that fleeting silhouette that he misses the sound of a chain moving before a vicious growl rents the air. His hair stands up on end, and his muscles lock against his will when a dog suddenly starts barking and snapping its teeth in their direction. The Doberman rushes them, all sharp angles and rigid muscles. Jesse's still locked in a fear borne of kitty instincts, ears pinned back to his skull, watching the threat close the distance between them in a few, powerful bounds. It isn't until Mr White takes a hesitant step back to his right that Jesse's muscles finally unlock. At the same instant, the dog is suddenly cut short by the heavy chain around its neck. The dog makes a brief choking sound, upright ears falling flat for a second, before resuming its loud barking.

The dog is chained to a section of mail lockers lining the building, but its range includes the entrance of the building's ground floor and about four feet beyond the stairs. The coppery scent of blood makes Jesse wrinkle his nose, heartbeat gradually returning to normal as the adrenalin leaves him, and the fear Mr White had been giving off slowly dying back to his resting scent. Looking closer, Jesse sees that the dog has a makeshift collar resting above the chain – a clamp ring secured with a screw. The metal appears to have sharp edges, if the bleeding wounds framing it are anything to go by, and the ring seems two sizes too small for the dog.

Jesse's anger flares at the sight of the collar, clenching his teeth. He's never liked the thought of collars, and this one is especially cruel. The wounds look painful, and Jesse frowns as the dog continues to bark, muscles in its neck forcing the metal to cut deeper. Jesse drops his bag to the concrete and crouches before the dog to get closer. He's aware that he's within range to be bit, so he keeps his muscles coiled to spring back just in case.

"What are you _doing,_" Mr White hisses.

Lack of sleep may be to blame for Jesse's decision, but he's determined to get rid of the offending collar despite the risk. The dog stops barking momentarily, surprised by Jesse's inadvisable action. It recoils slightly from Jesse's outstretched hand and doesn't try to sniff it so much as eye it nervously, but Jesse is persistent. The blond ignores Mr White's continued protests, and takes hold of the clamp ring at the closure, reaching back to retrieve one of his knives with his other hand. He flicks it open, but hesitates at the dog's frightened whimper and aborted struggle back out of Jesse's firm hold.

Now that Jesse is closer, he notices that the dog has other wounds; healed scars where the fur doesn't grow mar its muzzle and bony flank. Small, jagged ones that may have come from other dogs, and long, thin ones that can't be mistaken for anything other than knife wounds. He hesitates, releasing the clamp to pet the dog along his muzzle and over his head. "It's alright, buddy," he murmurs in a deep register, trying his hardest to project calm the way Saul does so effortlessly. "I'm not gonna hurt you," Jesse promises. The dog's expressive eyes watch Jesse warily, its trembling eventually subsiding as Jesse continues to pet him.

"Good boy," the blond says with a smile, reaching again for the screw and fitting the tip of his knife into the groove. He quickly loosens the screw and carefully pulls the clamp off the dog with a grimace. The wound is raw and angry, likely infected and painful. He tosses the bloody metal aside, the dog watching the ring clang against the concrete. Jesse fits his knife back into his pocket and smiles when the dog cautiously noses at Jesse's chest with a small whine.

Jesse pets the dog again, looking up only when Mr White clears his throat. Approaching them is a tall, broad man with a deep-set glower. Beside him scurries the same little bitch that cut Saul.

Jesse growls lowly at the scrawny bitch, standing fluidly as he nears. He glares, side-stepping Mr White's heavy hand that ineffectively reaches for Jesse's nape. The fact that the little bitch is _here_ at least means he isn't near Saul, but the sight of him makes everything in Jesse crave revenge again.

"_Jesse_," Mr White hisses warningly.

The blond is distracted when the man he assumes is Bustamante reveals a handgun. Mr White's fear flares again – though outwardly he remains stoic – and Jesse's muscles coil in preparation at the introduction of the weapon. He blanches when Bustamante levels it with the Doberman's head with a resounding couple of clicks as he cocks it.

Jesse leaps in front of the dog, stance wide to make himself a larger target, eyes fixed on Bustamante. His thoughts swing to Saul for a beat – Saul is often at the center of his decisions as of late – and knows that this is pretty much the exact opposite of being safe like Saul asked of him, but he'll be damned if he stands by and allows this dog to be gunned down. Behind him, he can hear the dog whimper pitifully, chain clinking as it cowers behind Jesse.

"Move," Bustamante growls.

"No," Jesse returns sharply with a flash of teeth, ears snapping back in aggression. "You're not shooting this dog."

Bustamante stares at him, eyes cold and expression tight. "It's failed its only job. What use do I have for something so _broken_?"

"What?" Jesse asks between his teeth, eyeing Bustamante from beneath furrowed brows.

"It allowed you to pet it, to _quiet it_. I need a guard dog that _guards_ and this one has been given too many chances. Now _move or I will shoot you, too_."

Bustamante steps forward in what Jesse assumes must be an attempt to intimidate, but it really only serves to bring him within Jesse's range. The blond darts out a hand, clasping the barrel of the gun to redirect it and striking with his fist against Bustamante's wrist in a move that mirrors the way he once disarmed his lackey. Bustamante must not be used to being accosted, because he loosens his grip easily, relenting the gun to Jesse.

Jesse steps out of range, pushing the dog back with the move, ignoring Mr White's shocked and angry spluttering from his left. He stands as a shield before the sleek Doberman, watching Bustamante's shocked expression drop into something he can't quite place. He'd rather not use the gun, but it works well enough as a deterrent, keeping Bustamante rooted to the spot.

"Give it back, you motherfucker!" the scrawny lackey cries.

"Fuck off, bitch," Jesse returns with a snarl, eyes locked on Bustamante, as the muscled man irrefutably poses the highest threat.

"I should have killed you!" the scrawny man yells, pointing aggressively and stomping toward Jesse. "I shoulda killed you, and that dumbass lawyer!"

Jesse finally looks to the lackey, breaking the staring contest with Bustamante to release a guttural growl. "You weak _bitch_, if you even _mention _him again—"

"Oh, did I strike a nerve? Afraid I'll show up one night and blast a hole in your precious lawyer's dumb skull?"

Rage blazes across Jesse's form, so potent that even the idiot before him can sense it. He drops into a dark headspace _consumed _with destroying this unpredictable threat. With a snarl, Jesse flings the gun in a high arc toward the lackey as distraction. The misdirection works almost too well: the lackey watches the gun with his head tipped back, stumbling away from the group and opening his posture defenselessly as he waits to catch the airborne handgun.

Jesse charges full-throttle at him, body checking the bitch with enough force to knock him off his feet and back toward the building a couple body lengths. He reaches to swipe the gun from the air but Mr White beats him to it with a cutting glare.

"Stop, damn it," he grits out, face red in anger and lips twisted in a grimace. "You're going to get us _killed_."

Jesse ignores Mr White, ducking the man's arm and stalking toward the lackey again as he scrambles to his feet. Jesse swings a right roundhouse and the blow knocks the lackey down again with a grunt. Jesse follows the little bitch down, catching him by the front of his hoodie and locking him in place to punch him in the temple and jaw, straddling the prone man, knees digging into hard concrete. He easily deflects the returned punches, anger revving his senses up enough to nearly predict them before they're aimed.

His next series of punches succeeds in the lackey suddenly sporting a bloody nose. The red flash of color draws a victorious growl from Jesse's chest. Jesse isn't sure if it's broken, but he's drawing his fist back again to ensure it is when he's unexpectedly caught in the gut by a kick from the bleeding man. Jesse's knocked back but he's on his feet within a breath and manages to block with his left forearm this time when another wild kick is aimed at him. He blocks yet another kick in the same spot and the second strike stings enough to force him a step back. He's effectively pushed out of fighting range just long enough for the man to stand with another gun in his hand, like some annoying magician with only one trick. The lackey lifts the handgun up to Jesse's chest determinedly but the blond lunges forward and catches the man's elbow, forcing the present momentum to continue until the lackey is impotently pointing skyward. Jesse strikes the man's extended shoulder with a sharp jab, watching in satisfaction as it falls to resting as it's knocked out of socket.

The lackey howls and his disabled hand drops the gun. Jesse strikes again with the heel of his palm against the man's sternum and a punch to his abdomen, forcing him to double over and step back. Jesse catches his stumbling foot with his own and trips him, putting him down again. He reaches for his pocket and reveals the man's own knife to his pained face. With a feral smile and a wag of the knife he asks, "Look familiar?"

Before he can put the knife to use, his forearm is grabbed and yanked back. It's the same arm that blocked the kicks, and a baser part of his brain _really_ doesn't want it exposed to anything again. He turns to tug free with a snarl at Bustamante's impassive face.

"Drop it," the man commands.

Jesse glares in reply, grip remaining firm on the knife. He can feel the bones protest, grinding awkwardly within his hoodie sleeve. He tries to move with the crushing hold but he isn't fast enough to avoid the sudden _wrench_ Bustamante gives. His arm resists for a beat before it _snaps_ audibly, an agonizing lightning bolt shooting up his arm. The dog begins barking behind him again, and Jesse focuses on the noise as distraction, locking his knees before they can even begin to buckle under the pain. He grits his teeth through the white-hot acid that sluggishly travels up the full length of his arm, a pained hiss the only sound he allows himself. His arm _burns_ and the agony is enough to twist his stomach, which is blessedly empty and thus unable to produce any sick. He drops the knife, slipping his broken arm from Bustamante's relenting grip. Jesse side-steps Bustamante to put both him and his prone lackey on one side, eyes darting equally between both threats. He shoves his damaged arm into his hoodie pocket to serve as a sling for want of anything better, shifting his stance so that his left side drops back as he digs out the second knife. He struggles for a breath to flick it open without the help of his dominant hand, the majority of his concentration on Bustamante and his arm which seems to pulse painfully with every heartbeat. On any other day, he'd be able to perform a simple task like this without trouble. He's ambidextrous to an extent, but he's injured, tired, hungry, and the fury-induced adrenalin is bleeding away in the face of his broken arm to which he can't help but give most of his attention.

"That's enough," Bustamante says simply. "Put it away."

"No. I'm ending this now," Jesse says unflinchingly. "He won't hurt Saul."

"No, he won't," Bustamante agrees. "I'll see to it myself that he doesn't." Bustamante turns toward the lackey and roughly picks him up by the nape before depositing him in front of Jesse, shoving until he's on his knees before the blond. "Apologize," Bustamante says aggressively.

Only now, from this angle, does Jesse notice the dark leather collar around the lackey's neck. It's a size too small, just like the dog's collar was, and it looks like breathing may be an arduous task.

"S-sorry," he stutters, wiping at his bleeding nose. He repeats the word with more confidence when Bustamante gives him a rough shake.

The display of power imbalance makes Jesse's gut twist uncomfortably again, but he still feels the need to be unrelenting with Saul's safety on the line. "You won't hurt Saul," he says gruffly, "or anyone he cares about. My vow still stands: if I catch you near him, or any of them," Jesse's mind flicks to thoughts of Francesca, Drew, and Mike, "I will kill you."

"Do you understand, pet," Bustamante asks condescendingly. "Tell him you understand."

"Yes, I understand," the kneeling man says meekly.

"Good. Go clean yourself up." Bustamante releases the man with a shove and turns to face Jesse directly. "You truly can put that away," he says, looking to the Gerber knife Jesse still has clutched in his fist. "You've proven yourself enough."

Jesse eyes Bustamante for a breath. The man's posture is relaxed, but Jesse knows better than to trust a resting cobra. He scents the air discretely and doesn't find any trace of aggression from the man. He hesitantly flicks the knife closed but doesn't return it to his pocket.

Bustamante gives him a slightly toothy grin, looking more like a shark than a man. "That's good enough, I suppose." He eyes Jesse appraisingly for a moment, his scent dropping into something that inexplicitly reminds the blond of el Caballero. "You're very impressive," he tells Jesse warmly. "All of that, even with the option of a gun. I'd hate to lose such a strong business partner over a tragedy that can easily be avoided – I swear to you that no harm will come to Mr Goodman. In fact, I'd like to apologize properly for the trouble you've had today, and any trouble Marcus may have caused in the past. I've sent Mr Goodman a care package in apology, but I was not aware you were also wronged." He gestures to the lot behind them. "Choose any one you'd like."

There are several cars in the lot, but Bustamante's wide gesture includes the chained Doberman and the pitiful sight makes his damaged arm throb in sympathy. He turns to Bustamante and with features as expressionless as stone, says, "I want the dog."

Bustamante laughs boisterously. "Yes, you can have the damn thing. As I've said, I've no use for it," he says casually. "However, I was referring to the vehicles. Do any interest you?"

Jesse reviews the lot in his mind's eye, hesitant to turn his back on Bustamante again. The motorcycle – possibly a Suzuki – is his first choice, but a voice that sounds suspiciously like Saul urges him to take something more practical. "The black Mustang," Jesse returns just as easily. He's surprised when Bustamante simply nods and strides toward the building complex, returning with both a set of keys for the car and a bolt cutter.

Keeping his broken arm in his hoodie, Jesse finally pockets the knife, along with the keys without comment. He then takes the bolt cutters from Bustamante's relaxed grip.

"I'd like to finish the deal," Bustamante says simply. "The money is here in full. I expect to see you at the next meeting. I believe our continued partnership will be equally rewarding."

Something flits across Bustamante's gaze that reminds Jesse of el Caballero _again _and it sends a chill up his spine. He still nods his understanding in a sharp dip of his chin and watches as Mr White hands off the bags in exchange for the money, apologizing fiercely for Jesse's _unacceptable behavior_.

Bustamante takes the bags of blue shards back toward the complex, disappearing through the same side door his lackey used. The lot falls silent again, the apartments seemingly deserted for lack of movement. Jesse turns back to the Doberman, coming to a kneel before the dog. The Doberman sniffs at Jesse again, whining softly. Jesse frowns at the chain and the bolt cutter, broken arm throbbing at the thought of using it.

"What the _hell was that_, Jesse? Do you realize you could have—"

"Help me cut him loose," Jesse says gruffly before Mr White can delve into an angry rant.

With a growl, the teacher yanks the bolt cutters out of Jesse's hand and fits the blades over the chain serving as a leash, muttering obscenities over Jesse's reckless behavior.

"No," Jesse says, lifting the segment serving as a collar. "Here."

Mr White shifts the bolt cutter to a link of the collar. With a quick snip, the chain falls away.

Jesse grins broadly at the dog, petting him again. "Isn't that better, buddy?" The dog licks hesitantly at his hand and Jesse rewards him with a few scratches behind his ear. "Everything's gonna be alright," he echoes Saul in a pleased murmur.


	21. Chapter 21

Jesse continues to pet the dog, frowning a bit at the way it seems to remain just at arm's length. It hasn't run off yet – or worse, chased devotedly after its would-be executioner – despite being free, and Jesse counts that as a small win. The dog's expressive eyes remain fixed on the blond, stub of a tail hesitantly wagging, though its spine remains curved defensively. Jesse isn't sure how he's going to coax it into the car without a leash, turning the problem over in his head as he watches Mr White fuss with one of the duffels of cash while muttering angrily to himself. Just as Mr White leans down to pick up the second bag of cash, someone else beats him to it.

Jesse watches in surprise as Mike casually lifts the duffel by its side straps. The ex-cop is almost unrecognizable, dressed in dark slacks, a black casual military jacket, shades and a _snake tattoo _that travels up his neck to curve along the edge of his eye, mouth open and fangs visible. Jesse snorts, but quickly masks any further laughter with a cough, which progresses into a true coughing fit that steals his breath for a moment. Mike eyes him with veiled concern over his sunglasses before shifting the bag in his hold again. The man lets the bag rest near his thigh as he looks Mr White over in a sharp glance.

"I believe this one belongs to the kid," he says gruffly, face impassive. "Boss says you two are equal partners – fifty-fifty – and that's how we divided the bags."

Mr White sputters for a second, before growling, "Who are _you_?"

Rather than answer, the ex-cop leisurely turns his attention to Jesse. "Get up. I'm to help you into your new ride."

Jesse stands, reading the scene and Mike's stance to realize Mike is a Stranger under Bustamante's orders – the man's already undercover and Jesse shouldn't _recognize _him. He hopes his slip at Mike's tattoo wasn't caught by Mr White.

Just as soon as Mike takes the keys from Jesse and moves to stride past the blond, Mr White reaches for him angrily.

"I asked you a question," he grumbles, eyes locked on the bag of cash in the ex-cop's grip. "You weren't at the meet last time. It's rude to skip introductions," he says condescendingly.

Mike turns around with a snarl on his lips and Jesse intervenes, slipping between them and batting Mr White's hand away with his good arm. "It's alright, Heisenberg," he assures. "We're done here. I'll see ya later, yeah?"

Mr White stares at him, really _looks,_ and the scrutiny is something new. Jesse feels exposed, and hopes his face isn't doing something funny without his knowledge. He can feel the sweat across his brow and the consistent downward tug of his lips due to pain and fatigue, but he has no idea what Mr White sees in his eyes. It evidently isn't something his ex-teacher likes, because he shakes his head sharply.

"I'll follow you out."

Jesse tenses. His plan after this isn't to grab pizza or go for a joyride; he wants to get back to Saul as fast as he can. He can't have Mr White stalking him to the caring man's house, and it'll fuck up everything if he insists.

"No, really, it's—"

"Then we'll meet up, at the usual spot," Mr White interrupts with the counter offer.

"The kid should see a doctor. Standing here is a waste of everyone's time," Mike states gruffly. "C'mon," he says, voice authoritative as he turns from the two of them and walks toward the Mustang. He whistles sharply, and the dog instantly rushes to follow, paces carefully measured to stay just behind Mike and to the right with pinned ears and an uneasy gait.

Mike's right, and his arm throbs at the reminder. They're wasting time and odds are Bustamante is watching the entire exchange at this very moment. He could potentially blow Mike's cover by engaging Mr White for too long, and realizes he'll have to continue treating Mike as a Stranger on these grounds.

"I'm, uhm, gonna go get patched up," Jesse offers, as he watches Mike near the car. "I'll text you once things settle."

Mr White hums in reply. "We'll have to get started on the next batch."

"Right, yeah," Jesse agrees, eager for the slight change in topic. "Just, uhm, lemme know your schedule. We'll meet up later." The blond turns on his heel and hurries after Mike, leaving before Mr White can delay him further.

Mike slams the door shut behind the dog in the back – Jesse only catches a glimpse before the tinted windows block his view. The man rounds the car and pops the trunk, and Jesse joins him to watch him load the bag. The raised trunk lid blocks them from the apartment complexes and Mike's attention is instantly on the blond.

"Are you alright?"

Jesse's knee-jerk reaction is to nod – because that's the safe answer anytime he's asked that question – but Mike's piercing gaze stops him. "I'll be alright," he says instead.

"Your partner's a dick," Mike mutters. "He shouldn't have let it escalate. You shouldn't have gotten hurt."

Jesse shrugs, but the concern is enough to inspire a genuine smile. He eases them back into more familiar territory by asking, "So, uhm, what's with the Tyson look, man?" Jesse traces the snake with his eyes, grinning broadly. "Real badass, dude," he tags on cheekily with a huff of a laugh.

Mike looks to him, same unimpressed eyebrow raised, but his lips are curved upward ever so slightly. He reaches up and suddenly flicks Jesse between the eyes under his beanie with a snap of thumb and middle finger.

"_Ow,_ what's your problem, yo?"

"That was for your stupid display earlier. This life requires restraint, kid, and the sooner you learn that, the longer you'll live."

The blond rubs at his forehead with a frown.

The ex-cop's expression softens slightly. "That being said, you really impressed Bustamante, which is good. He values bold action and steady nerves. Now, your next stop is the hospital – I've already notified Saul that you're done here."

Jesse sighs. "What else did you tell him?"

"Everything."

Damn. He didn't want Saul to know too much until he could clean up all the frayed edges, doesn't want the man to worry about things currently out of his control.

"I don't have much time," Mike reminds him. "Give me your phone."

He digs into his pocket and obediently hands it over. He's not quite sure what Mike's motive is, but he has Badger's and Saul's numbers memorized, so it won't be devastating to lose it.

"Unlock it."

Jesse's surprised the thing has any juice left. He reaches over and does as asked. Mike types for a moment as Mr White's car starts from the other side of the lot. He watches his ex-teacher drive down the road for a beat before his phone is being nudged at his good shoulder to gain his attention. A new contact has been entered, simply tagged: M.

"The next time Saul hesitates to call me, I want you to do it for him. He should have had a bodyguard as soon as you were off duty; it was smart of you to force him into it. You're a good kid, Jesse."

The praise makes something in his ribs expand warmly. He ducks his head and shoves his phone back into his pocket. Mike claps him on the shoulder, a solid weight before he reaches up and shuts the trunk.

Mike turns to him, facing away from the apartments, lips barely moving as he mutters, "There's a tracker in the glove box. I'll retrieve it from you later. We'll get the car signed over to you soon."

Jesse climbs into the car muttering, "Be careful," as Mike turns back toward the building.

The man hums in acknowledgement, strides confident and unhurried as he returns to his boss.

Jesse looks into the rearview to catch sight of the dog cowered in the backseat, hunched as small as it can make itself. The blond coos back to him warmly, "It's alright, buddy. We're gonna go get you patched up."

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Driving stick with a broken arm _sucks_. Any other time, Jesse would be stoked to drive; he knows the beast can handle turns well enough and he'd like to take it up to eighty and beyond just to feel the speed, but in his current condition it's all agony. Any time he has to downshift, he has to keep hold of the wheel with a delicate, awkward grip, vibrations from the road and the engine an excruciating burn while he quickly manipulates the gearshift. He's unable to use his knees with enough coordination to maintain the wheel and the clutch as he feeds it more gas, so he tries to keep it in second as much as he can, breezing through a couple of stop signs. It's late enough in the day – just past rush hour – that the roads are fairly clear, and Jesse takes the risk to avoid more pain. Saul would scold him endlessly if he knew. The thought makes him feel a little guilty, but every time he has to grip the wheel with his broken arm, he feels like he may vomit and more sweat beads across his brow.

"_Shit,_" he hisses between clenched teeth, finally parking in front of the vet. He pants raggedly for a moment, cradling his arm to his chest, desperately tamping down the bile rising in his throat. His reflection in the rearview reveals a waxy, pallid complexion and strain around his tired eyes. The dog whines softly from the back, drawing Jesse's ears up out of their pained downward angle. Jesse murmurs, "It's okay. Do me a favor, though, and don't make this difficult, alright? We'll be in and out." Jesse mops his face with his sleeve and takes a steadying breath. He eases his arm back into his pocket with a whimper and knees the door open.

He opens the door for the dog and clicks his tongue in hopes to beckon it out. The dog is agreeable, hopping out and staying close to Jesse's side. The blond sighs in relief, locking the car and quickly leading the dog to the entrance and up to the counter.

The woman at the desk frowns in concern when Jesse presents the dog to her.

"I, uhm, I found this dog…" Jesse clenches his fist down near his hip where the woman can't see. Saul's right, he is shit at lying. He's sure their collective appearance is shocking, and he's desperate to avoid any trouble. He tries to make himself seem unthreatening, eyes open and honest in hopes she won't be tempted to throw him out or call the cops on a fear that he's involved in dog fighting or some shit. He powers on, "Can you patch him up? Maybe a bath, too? I can pay for treatment."

"We can definitely tend to his injuries, but we're not exactly a groomers," she says, rounding the desk and crouching before the dog. She makes soft noises at the frightened animal, and Jesse feels a flash of protective aggression when the dog presses against his leg with a small noise. He drops his hand to the dog's head and pets him comfortingly.

"Please," he says earnestly, "Please, anything you can do, please."

She looks up to Jesse, gaze assessing before she nods and stands. She pages to someone in the back, asking for assistance with an injured Doberman before sliding a clipboard to Jesse.

"Please begin filling this out. I'll have my team in the back start right away." She still seems a little unsure, but at least the dog will be treated soon.

Two lanky men in scrubs come out from the back, blinking in surprise at Jesse's bruised appearance before their attention is solely focused on the cowering dog. Jesse watches apprehensively as they maneuver the Doberman into the back, Jesse's murmured reassurances chasing the dog until it's out of sight. He's tempted to follow, but he knows he'd just be in the way.

He takes the clipboard and sits in one of the cushioned seats, carefully holding the board with his broken arm to keep up appearances while he fills in the forms. He lists his name simply as 'Jesse,' gives his phone number, and writes down Saul's address after only a moment of hesitation. Surely Saul won't mind? It's not like this information could be used against them. Could it?

He stares at the line containing Saul's address for a long moment, uncertain and mildly paranoid. He swallows thickly and eventually moves on, filling out what little he knows about the dog. He guesses at age, and has no idea as far as its medical history, so the form is spotty but finished quickly.

He takes it up to the counter again, interrupting the woman preparing a chart for his dog. "I, uhm, don't really know too much. Should he get shots?"

"We can run blood work on your dog if you'd like, sir. We'd be able to find out whether he's up to date or not. Though, with the state he's in, I don't have much faith he's been to the vet recently. It wouldn't hurt him if we doubled up, though."

Jesse falters at 'sir' but quickly regains his balance. "Uhm, no, let's just give him his shots. We'll start his medical history today."

She smiles at his answer, taking the forms from him and filing them in the dog's chart. "What's your dog's name, Jesse?"

The blond bites his lip. Up until now, he's really only called the dog 'Buddy.' Is that a good dog name? His uncertainty must show, because she picks up the thread of conversation again.

"It's alright if you don't have one for him yet. Where did you say you found him again?"

"Down in EDo," Jesse says, sticking close enough to the truth to make recall easy in case he's quizzed again later. "He was scared, and I couldn't leave him out there alone." He watches her scribble the information in the chart with a nod. He looks out to the parking lot, to the pet store down a few shops in the strip mall. "I'm not sure what he eats. Soft food? And he'll need a leash, right? And a bed?" He frowns and turns back to her to find the woman smiling gently at him.

"Those all sound like a good place to start. Head on next door; if he's ready before you're back, we'll call you. This is your cell number, correct?" At Jesse's nod, she smiles again. "Go on next door, ask for Max – he's a good friend, and I'll tell him to expect you. He'll help you out."

Jesse nods again, relieved to have something to dedicate himself to. He hustles across the lot, studiously focused on the dog and not his arm. He'll pick up supplies for the dog, make sure he's taken care of. He hopes Saul won't have any reservations about keeping it – he knows Saul hasn't signed up for half the shit he's had to deal with since meeting Jesse, but he hopes that once Saul sees the dog he won't be able to say no. There is no backup plan, and Jesse doesn't want to have to send the dog away.

His phone chirps at him as soon as he enters the store. His heart lurches for a beat, worried that something's already gone wrong with the dog. He digs his phone out hurriedly and finds a string of texts from Saul.

**_Jesse, where are you? Why aren't you home yet?_**

**_Mike said you were hurt. Are you okay? Do you need help?_**

**_Jesse, please._**

Guilt floods Jesse's bloodstream. He frowns and types back quickly: **Sorry. I'm okay. Home soon, I promise.**

He manages to hit Send only a breath before the phone blinks and shuts down. The battery is finally dead and Jesse stares at it dumbly. He shuts his eyes and hopes with everything he has that the message went through. He doesn't want Saul to worry over him.

"'Scuse me, are you Jesse?"

Jesse's ears snap to attention at the sound of his name, brushing ticklishly against his beanie. He blinks to find a shaggy mop of hair wearing a red company smock standing before him. The man's mustache and beard are neatly trimmed, but the rest of him is untamed. He's holding a bag of dry dog food and a case of wet, setting them in a cart before turning his attention back to Jesse.

"Yeah. Are you Max?"

"Yep. Rachel said you might need some help. This food is a little bland," he says, gesturing to the cart, "but until you know the dog can handle it, I wouldn't recommend anything too heavy. Rach says he's got a pretty nasty neck injury, so I'd recommend a harness rather than a collar leash. You want me to walk with ya through the aisles?"

"That'd be cool, yo, if you, like, have a minute?"

"No prob; store's kinda empty right now, so as long as you need me, I'm here."

Jesse nods gratefully and walks alongside Max down the first dog aisle, relieved that the employee took charge of pushing the cart. Jesse isn't sure he'd have managed without giving away the state of his arm.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Forty minutes and three hundred dollars later, Jesse has a whole car full of supplies for the dog: food, a bed, toys, bowls, shampoo, treats, vitamins disguised as treats, a harness leash, and non-toxic ointment for the pads of the dog's paws after Jesse mentioned their cracked and damaged state.

Once he's done loading the car with Max's help, he enters the vet again, glad to find it empty aside from Rachel. He busies himself at the drinking fountain while they talk at the counter for a moment. He drinks his fill first, then fills one of the bowls with water in preparation for the dog. He sets it near one of the chairs and looks up questioningly at the two workers and asks hesitantly, "Would it be cool if he ate something before we go?"

Rachel smiles brightly at him. "Yes, of course. The boys are just finishing up his bath now, so he'll be out soon."

Jesse grins and thanks her, opening the can with minimal help from his damaged arm to empty it into the second bowl.

He settles the bill, handing over four hundred for the cleaning, sutures, and shots.

"He could also use a teeth cleaning," she advises. "Nothing serious, but I don't recommend we do that today. He could use a rest."

Jesse nods, muffling a cough in his sleeve. A nap sounds fucking awesome, and he imagines the dog would agree. He finishes signing and dating the last of the paperwork and turns to the back when the door opens. His dog follows the two veterinarians, neck bandaged and covered by a plastic ring guard. His fur is clean, brushed, and slightly fluffy. Jesse kneels with a smile, posture open, and the dog instantly trots over, tail wagging with far more confidence than earlier. Jesse nudges the food toward him and he quickly becomes second priority as the dog eats ravenously. Jesse nudges the water closer as well, frowning at the hurried way the dog gulps down its food. He thanks Max again on the man's way out, nodding when Max instructs him to ask for him any time Jesse's in the store. He doesn't move from his seat on the floor until the dog is done, afraid that he might spook it or unintentionally inspire aggression at feeding time. Rachel commends him on his decision after he declines a seat in one of the chairs with an explanation.

When the dog finishes noisily lapping up water, it nudges its dripping muzzle into Jesse's chest happily, tail wagging again.

The blond grins, petting the dog contentedly while Rachel walks him through treatment, advising to keep his wound clean and dry – the same advice Drew had given him for his own injury – and to keep him from scratching. The collar guard should help, but he still needs to be monitored. They already gave him a shot for the pain, but the pills they've prescribed will need to be taken orally and he might be stubborn about it.

"Just try to sneak it in with his food," she says. "They also make treats that work as sleeves for pills. I can have Max run some over, if you'd like?"

"I think we'll be okay," Jesse replies. "If he keeps eating his food like this, I doubt he'll even notice a pill."

Rachel agrees with a laugh. "Do you need help getting him back in the car?"

At the thought of driving again, Jesse drags a hand down his face. He really didn't think any of this through, but he just has to make it back to Saul's and then he can rest. "Nah, I should be alright. He's a good dog."

Rachel smiles, and holds the door open for him as he juggles the empty bowls with his hurt arm and his keys with the other. "Be sure to stop by within a couple weeks. We'll remove the sutures and give him another check up. We can clean his teeth then, too, if you'd like."

"Sounds good. Thank you, for everything. Including the bath – I bet he appreciates it, too."

Once the dog is settled in the car, snuffling curiously at his new bed, Jesse takes a moment to rest behind the wheel. His thoughts keep trying to drift back to his introduction to Bustamante, but he knows it's a tricky path of anger, doubt, and repressed fear waiting to catch up to him. He hopes to outrun all of that, at least until he's with Saul again. Jesse glances over his shoulder to find the dog curled up on its faux fur bed, closing its eyes with a heavy sigh.

Grinning, Jesse starts the car and heads home.


	22. Chapter 22

On the painful drive home, the sight of a liquor store Jesse knows carries high-end bottles sets his mind whirring. He still owes Saul for the bottle he poured out, and he has the money now, so he may as well replace it while he can. He doesn't want to show up on Saul's doorstep with the responsibility of a new dog and the burden of all his latest decisions without any form of a peace offering.

He cracks the window open for the dog, letting in the cooling pre-evening air. He coos to the Doberman softly as he cautiously eases himself out of the car, coughing dryly into his sleeve as he maneuvers carefully, mindful not to knock his arm against anything. He slips his hand free from his makeshift hoodie pocket sling again; definitely doesn't want to seem sketchy, going into a liquor store with a hidden hand. The dog has enough room to stick its head out the window, and it makes a questioning whine as Jesse heads to the storefront.

The door announces his entrance with a tinny bell chime. He nods to the guy behind the counter and tosses him a casual greeting as he makes his way to the side shelves. He glances briefly at the labels, searching for the one he memorized. He finds the rich amber bottle with the gold crown stamped on the label among a selection of pricy booze, dust gathered across the bottles. He wipes it clean, dust prompting another small coughing fit. He catches his breath and grips it by the neck, retreating to the counter quickly.

It's gonna set him back about 7k, which is fine; it's typically only after you make a cash purchase around the 10k mark that the IRS or the cops start to nose around. He knows he's on surveillance under the strikingly bright florescent lights, but he hopes his brief purchase won't draw much attention.

There are candy bars at the register, and Jesse tosses a couple peanut butter cup packages next to the scotch, Francesca's teasing suggestion ringing in his ears. Hopefully these small offerings will start to make up for all the shit he's put Saul through.

The unengaged cashier is less than impressed when Jesse pays in cash, transaction wrapping up quickly without much commentary. Jesse remains the only patron since he stepped in, and he quickly retreats back to the car. He struggles for a moment to open the car door, the dog sniffing curiously at the bag Jesse tosses in first. Laughing, Jesse nudges the dog's head away from it, muttering, "No, not for you, buddy."

Straightening, Jesse freezes. A familiar scent on the wind makes his hackles rise, fear dripping down his spine. He glances to the end of the lot to see el Caballero strolling toward the store. "_Shit_," Jesse mutters under his breath. The man hasn't taken notice of him yet, likely uninterested in some faceless person in a parking lot, but the blond knows it won't last if he sticks around. In his last altercation with el Caballero, he'd struggled to hold his own even _without_ prior injury, and he definitely isn't at one-hundred percent at the moment.

The dog falls silent and still. It seems to take notice of Jesse's change in scent; ears alert and eyes focused on the blond. Jesse can smell his own fear rolling off him in waves, and he knows the dog must be choking on it. The blond tracks el Caballero with wary eyes, holding his breath as the man passes him without recognition, reaching for the store's Pull handle.

Timing has never been Jesse's strong suit, and he knows that the universe both looks out for him and throws him into shitty situations in equal turn, but it's almost comical that he slips into another coughing fit _at this exact moment_. In the quiet twilight, the cacophony of coughs and wheezes may as well be gunshots.

He watches in frozen fear as el Caballero casually turns to look in his direction, movements slow and relaxed, like a predator that knows it has no equal, nothing to fear. The moment stretches, the both of them staring at each other, and Jesse can't help but think of all the stupid, cheesy B horror movies he's watched that involve hapless actors drawing the attention of the zombie or the monster at the wrong time with scripted sneezes.

El Caballero's face splits into a wide grin, and Jesse ducks into the car. He fumbles to close the door with his good arm crossed over his chest, growling at himself in frustration. He flinches back when el Caballero wrenches the door open again.

"Hey, gatito, what's the rush?"

"Fuck off," Jesse bites out, jamming the key into the ignition. He's willing to drive over the bastard's foot, door wide open if that's what it takes to get away.

The 'roid freak darts a hand in to tear the keys back out of the ignition. "Now, that's not nice. You went to the trouble to get my attention," he says through a grin, bent close into the interior of the car. "Maybe we can cruise around. I like your new ride." A flash of arousal, impossible to miss at this proximity, makes Jesse's nose wrinkle and his heart rate spike in fear.

"C'mon out, gatito, so we can talk." He reaches for Jesse, grabbing the arm cradled to his chest and the blond chokes on a pained gasp at the pain that flares up to his collarbone. The world is suddenly accented by colorful spots, lungs twisting in his ribcage as he breaks out in a cold sweat.

Between one blink and the next, the Doberman is standing on Jesse's lap, teeth bared at the blond's aggressor in a fierce growl. El Caballero's first reaction is surprise, replacing the repugnant scent of arousal. When el Caballero doesn't immediately let go, the dog lunges forward and clamps down on the man's wrist with a snap of its jaws.

With a howl, el Caballero lets go of Jesse, dropping the keys onto the pavement. He tries to tug free of the dog, but the Doberman refuses to release him, forepaws still digging into Jesse's thighs as it gives el Caballero's caught wrist a death shake, jaws flexing.

Jesse makes use of the distraction, ducking to swipe the keys from the ground with an easy contortion of ribs and spine. The dog isn't disturbed by the fluid motion, still clamped onto el Caballero like a steel trap. Jesse tosses the keys to his good hand, and the roar of the car starting goes unnoticed by the cursing man and the angry dog. Jesse fumbles for the gearshift, but can't with the dog standing where it is, wrestling with the cursing wall of muscle. El Caballero gives up trying to pry his wrist free, and takes to striking the dog. He only manages one blow before Jesse catches the man's flailing fist with a growl. Their tangled mess is more trouble than it's worth at this point, and Jesse knows he needs to break them apart; they're so close to making their escape.

"Drop it," Jesse commands, struggling to keep el Caballero's fist held immobile, lips nearly pressed to the dog's ear as close as they are in the cramped space.

The dog releases the man's bloodied wrist immediately, and Jesse angles a kick out the open door to force el Caballero back. He grits his teeth and uses his broken arm to slam the door shut, shifting into gear and peeling out of the lot with the Doberman still standing protectively over his lap.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

"Good boy," Jesse says again gratefully, petting the dog's flank and patting lightly once he wrestles the car into park. The dog's tail wags, a soft swishing sound against the passenger seat leather as he licks at his teeth again. "You better not have a taste for people now, Cujo," Jesse says shakily. "Not everyone deserves bites, alright?" He's hardly cut the engine before he catches sight of Saul running out of the house toward him. The man has an ethereal glow, highlighted by the fading sunlight along one side, and chased by the encroaching moonlight on the other. Jesse stares for a breath as Saul approaches, caught in the moment of this benign being running _toward_ him, _for_ him with the sole goal of being near him.

His tension bleeds out of his shoulders with a relieved sigh when Saul opens the car door. He grins brightly up at the lawyer, lips parting to gleefully announce, "Honey, I'm home. Didja miss me?"

Saul's answering grin is like a balm to his wounds. His fierce hug in the cramped space, however, is just the opposite. The blond yelps, flinching back into his seat, away from the warm press of Saul's form, hand darting up to cradle his burning arm where it's trapped between their chests.

Saul jumps back as though electrocuted, face pale and eyes wide. "Sorry, _sorry_, oh, damn, where are you hurt? Sorry," he says in a breathless rush from his tight throat. His hands hover over Jesse, flitting about worriedly but never truly touching the blond. The lawyer's eyes are pinched tight in concern, brows knitted tightly together. The dog growls lightly from the passenger seat in warning, but Saul hardly glances at it before looking to Jesse again.

"It's okay," Jesse says weakly, heart rate gradually dropping and stomach settling once more. He reaches to the dog absentmindedly, petting along the animal's head as he repeats, "It's okay." His arm pulses painfully in protest, but he's survived worse. "My arm, it's just my arm." He lifts his undamaged arm to cup Saul's cheek warmly, drawing the worried man in toward his space again. He kisses the DA softly, a gentle press of lips to both reassure Saul and to comfort himself. He presses their foreheads together, inhaling deeply of Saul's scent while he licks the lingering taste of Saul from his lips.

The man's scent is bitter with his sense of guilt, but it eventually returns to baseline after another kiss.

"Sorry," the man says again in a strained whisper, a warm puff of breath against Jesse's wet lips.

The blond presses closer, tucking his face against the DA's throat to nuzzle the sorely missed space. He presses a kiss there, lips inevitably drawn to the warm skin.

"Can you stand, sweetheart? Your arm is your only injury, right? Mike didn't elaborate, just that you'd gotten hurt." Saul frowns as he steps back, placing his warm, familiar, _welcome_ palm against the nape of Jesse's neck.

Jesse's eyes slide shut, his next inhalation marking the start of his purr. Saul smells like _home. _He's _missed_ this, missed Saul more than he truly realized. He blinks his eyes open at the gentle touch of lips to his forehead, directly over the spot where Mike flicked him in reprimand.

Saul steps back from the car and Jesse follows him, drawn forward almost in a daze to maintain contact with the other man. He's immediately wrapped in a gentle hug for his efforts, Saul's broad palm fitting neatly over his nape once again. The DA carefully takes hold of Jesse's elbow, where the blond still has his arm cradled against his chest.

"I, uhm, brought home a dog," Jesse mumbles into Saul's throat. He smiles at Saul's answering laugh.

"Yes, I can see that, darling. I suppose we'll need to get the yard fenced for him."

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Once Saul is moderately satisfied with Jesse's current condition, having checked for more breaks and bruises after inspecting his sutures by the lamp in the living room, Jesse is led into the kitchen. Jesse spends the next five minutes seated at the kitchen table, eating lasagna – a corner piece, his favorite – while Saul makes trips from the car to the living room, unloading all the dog supplies and retrieving the money from the trunk.

Saul clucks his tongue at the bottle of scotch and candy, but it still earns Jesse a kiss. "Is this why you took longer to get home?" Saul asks. "You didn't have to, sweetheart."

Jesse doesn't have the heart to tell Saul what happened on that particular errand, doesn't want to hurt the lawyer that way. He shrugs instead, and offers a sheepish smile. It's worth it when Saul runs a gentle hand through his hair and kisses him tenderly again.

The DA haphazardly stores everything away, emptying another can of dog food into the Doberman's dish at the blond's request. He also fills the other bowl with cold water from the sink.

Jesse watches the dog happily eat while he licks his own plate clean. The dog sniffs curiously at the table legs, and ventures into the kitchen a bit, but always returns to Jesse's side. He hasn't strayed much further than three feet from the blond. Jesse blinks when Saul slides another serving of lasagna in a to-go container in front of him.

Saul reaches forward and eases Jesse's hoodie off his shoulders. His hold is delicate as he guides the sleeve from Jesse's hurt arm with the blond's help. "Careful. Easy, there you go," he murmurs, helping Jesse remove the hoodie entirely before tossing it onto one of the chairs carelessly. He winces in sympathy at the swollen limb, but there is no open fracture, and there is no deep bruising; the arm is smooth and even, save for the swelling. He still dips his head to press his lips there for a breath.

Jesse feels a flush of heat spread across his cheeks at the treatment, ears tilting back in a strange mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. He's never had anyone _kiss_ an injury better before. When Saul straightens again, the blond returns the kiss to Saul's lips, where it belongs. He only catches a glimpse of Saul's smile before the man is rushing about again.

Jesse pets the dog contentedly while Saul darts into the hallway for the linen closet, returning with a towel. He hardly pauses in his jog to dig an icepack out of the freezer, wrapping it in the black towel. "I hope this isn't too thick," he mutters to himself as he nears Jesse again. When he's standing before Jesse once more, he smiles and urges him up to standing with a tug at his t-shirt sleeve. "C'mon, kid, let's go."

The blond looks up from his to-go container, second forkful hovering before his mouth. "Where are we going?"

"To the hospital."

"What? No. Why?"

Saul frowns at him, nodding pointedly to the arm Jesse still has cradled against his body.

"_This_? No, we can just wrap this. That's what I did last time."

That same earthy smell permeates Saul's scent and Jesse frowns. He's beginning to recognize it as indication that Saul is _hurt_ but not in a physical sense, not in a way that Jesse can remedy, and he's aware he's often the cause of it.

"Last time?" the DA questions, stepping into Jesse's space again, warm hand skating through Jesse's hair, combing through the fur of one ear before gliding down to his nape.

"Yeah, when I was little," he murmurs, pressing into Saul's hold. "Missed a jump between rooftops. Fell, uhm, maybe twelve, fifteen feet? Before you ask, no, I didn't land on my feet like a cat should. Rather than rolling into my fall, I stupidly panicked and braced with my arm and broke it. But it was better than risking a collarbone or hip break; I'm told those are a real bitch to heal from.

"Anyway, I was lucky I didn't do more damage, but I didn't want to get in trouble with my dad, so I just wrapped it. Kinda loose at first 'cause it hurt and there was swelling, but then when it started to hurt less, I wrapped it tighter. With those self-adhesive strips boxers use and, y'know, those wrist guards that skaters use? Got it all from the sports store, and it healed up alright.

"It takes a couple months, but it works. You can't even tell; there's no displaced bone, or anything. And now I know how to judge jumping distance – I haven't made that mistake again."

Saul presses their foreheads together, a small, sad sound chasing his exhale. "And this arm, is it the same one you broke falling from that roof?" He delicately skims the top of Jesse's damaged arm, fingertips traversing the skin so lightly it causes goose bumps to follow in their wake even before the press of ice.

"Well, yeah, but…not in the same spot, yo. Which is better, right? The first time it was closer to my wrist." At Saul's frown, the blond looses a defeated sigh. He knows he's already lost, but Saul's soft plead cinches it.

"Please, Jesse. You saw to your dog's injuries; why was that?"

Frowning, Jesse mutters, "I had to, he was hurting."

"And so are you, sweetheart. Please, Jesse." The lawyer crowds into his space, drawing the blond close for a moment, mindful of his arm.

He nods against Saul and mutters his acquiescence. He tugs his beanie back on and pats the dog on the head, murmuring, "Be good," before he takes hold of the bundled ice when the DA hands it off. He reluctantly follows as Saul locks up and leads him to the Cadillac.

Saul opens the passenger door, easing Jesse in cautiously. He buckles the seatbelt for him over the ice pack and his arm to serve as a makeshift sling before placing his to-go container and fork in his lap.

"But what about the dog?" Jesse asks as a last-ditch effort. "We can't leave him; what if he pisses on the carpet or something?"

He gives a slightly strained laugh, kissing Jesse's temple. "Nice try, kid. We're going to the hospital. I can always replace the damn carpet." He shuts the door and rounds the car to his own side.

The DA starts the car, quickly navigating them out of residential and into true traffic. He glances over to find Jesse frowning down at his shoes. He lifts his hand from the wheel and cups Jesse's cheek, thumb rubbing gently just under his eye. "I'll be with you the whole time," he murmurs. "Please, Jesse."

The blond swallows thickly and nods. He'd much rather stay home; maybe play with the dog a bit before finally taking a shower and climbing into bed. He'd still like to argue his homemade splint idea, because that's exactly what they're gonna do at the hospital. He knows that if he was still on his own, that's how he'd handle this, but Saul still smells _hurt_ and Jesse can't deny him.

"Are you not hungry anymore? I forgot the lid, sorry," Saul says with a mild frown at a stoplight.

"No," Jesse answers quickly, clutching the container close. "I mean, yeah, I'm still hungry."

"Okay, it's okay, I was just asking." Saul stretches across the console to kiss Jesse's temple again. He returns his focus to the road when the light changes. "I would never take food from you, Jesse."

The blond nods again, already lifting another forkful to his lips. "Can't believe you actually made lasagna for me again," he says with a grin, ducking his head.

"Well, we did sort of agree it was the key to bringing my young prince home from battle sooner, and I wanted to appease the Fates."

Jesse huffs a laugh, murmuring, "Nerd," under his breath fondly. A deep rumble shakes his chest in a purr and Saul's hand returns to his nape.

"Yes, yes. Eat your food, darling."

"Yes, dear," Jesse replies, soft smile splayed across his lips to mirror Saul's. That same, familiar warmth spreads in his chest, warming his very bones. He sneaks another glance at the DA, heart stuttering for a beat when he realizes, without any further chance of fooling himself otherwise, that he truly _loves_ this man.


	23. Chapter 23

Jesse isn't a flight risk, but Saul seems concerned enough to keep Jesse within arm's reach, standing with him at initial check-in, measurements of his vitals, banding, and the tedious paperwork.

Jesse leaves most of the fields blank; he doesn't know much of his own medical history aside from generalities, and he doesn't provide too much info as far as address and employer for lack of safe answers. Really, anything they could potentially research raises red flags in Jesse's weary mind; he knows they would only end in false results and down that road suspicion lies. Best to avoid trouble entirely by omission.

He'd scribbled down Saul's address at the vet, but assigning it to himself, here – within documentation he knows could be pulled by the authorities on a whim – stays his hand. Better for the staff to think he's homeless, unemployed, and uninsured. He has the funds to pay without insurance, and he has every intention to without dragging Saul's info into it. It's bad enough he's stealing yet _another_ night from the kind man.

The triage team glances over his forms, confusion evident over the empty fields and missing information. They relent easily enough when Jesse insists he's finished.

Jesse sits next to Saul again in the lobby, smiling when the DA slips a hand along his nape fleetingly, drifting up to scratch just under the edge of his beanie. "We'll be out of here in a bit, kid," he murmurs, gaze warm and open.

The blond leans toward the warmth of Saul's frame, eyes slipping shut at the tender treatment. Saul's sure fingers massage gently at the base of his skull, across his nape, and at the hinge of his jaw, which Jesse hadn't realized he'd been clenching tight. The blond relaxes, a sub-vocal purr skating along his ribs – he doesn't allow himself to make noise, naturally self-conscious in the public space, but he's too tired to draw back the impulse to purr entirely.

Saul doesn't stop, but his movements are distracted. The lawyer is discreetly watching what appears to be a drug-seeker pacing against the far wall. The druggie is muttering to himself – disjointed, rapid speech – while he picks frantically at his arms.

The man's scent is chaotic, a mess of anger, fear, nervousness, and desperation. It's all reflected in his energy, and Jesse can't watch the erratic movement for long. He imagines it's a bad meth drop, and for a moment, guilt stabs him through his vibrating ribs. He knows that the blue can potentially ruin lives, and he's just managed to put out enough supply to have the city buzzing for weeks.

The graveyard ER staff seems unperturbed by the spectacle, likely having to deal with it nightly. Truly, the only one watching is Saul, whose grip remains a comforting weight along Jesse's nape. The DA's scent is heavy and musky, a broad shield separating Jesse from the junkie in a subconscious show of protective defense. The scent is syrupy and heady for the blond; something he's scented before, but never has he been the inspiration for it, this dizzying, protective musk.

Jesse draws in a deep lungful, cradling his arm between them to press closer to the lawyer. His muscles loosen and he leans on the DA, head resting on the man's shoulder. Saul's attention turns to him, body conforming to Jesse a moment before the man's scent is suddenly layered with a crisp smell like fresh spring rain. Mixed with his underlying baseline of a woodsy cedar-sandalwood, it's enough to force Jesse's eyes closed in pleasure. Though he would much rather be curled up in Saul's bed, he could easily drift off to sleep here against the DA.

"Mnn," Jesse hums a soft note, before slurring slightly, "What… What're you thinkin' about?" He doesn't know what's caused this change in musk, but it's addicting, and he wants the formula to repeat it in the future.

Jesse can hear the man's smile when he replies, "Nothing, kid, just relax."

Before Jesse can insist, his name is called from the front desk. He draws away from Saul regretfully and they make their way up.

"I'm sorry, sir, it's family only beyond this point," a nurse says, hand up to stop Saul from following Jesse back.

The blond frowns; he hadn't thought this through, having avoided hospitals long enough to forget the rules. He won't have Saul go back to the lobby, to wait alongside the unpredictable druggie alone, but his drained mind is turning over sluggishly without any helpful solutions other than having the lawyer wait in the car which sounds dumber every time he loops back to it. He can feel his migraine crawling back beneath his right eye.

"I must insist that I accompany my client, ma'am," Saul says in his Con Voice, which Jesse has learned to recognize watching Saul at the office. That charming, honeyed voice and warm, confident smile. The DA could convince the Rolex off a man's wrist in trade for a ten dollar Zippo with 'history.'

"I'm under contractual obligation to document all of my client's injuries in relation to his most recent encounter with his...we'll say, 'rival,'" Saul continues, flashing his ID with a disarming smile. "It's a mess of he-said-he-said," he stage-whispers to her, "and I must have documentation for accurate representation. First-hand knowledge is always best in these cases."

Jesse nods helpfully when the nurse turns her attention to him, a smooth smile he's borrowed from Saul easing the sharp line of his lips.

"In fact," Saul says, drawing her attention back, "we'll need medical release forms now – might as well fill them out to obtain records as quickly as possible."

She frowns hesitantly, but Saul is still smiling at her charmingly, expression persuasively honest. Jesse flashes another grin when she turns to him again. His brain is barely functioning, so he hopes she doesn't have any questions for him. He doesn't have training like Saul to speak poetically on the best of days.

Saul deals the final blow with a few slick statements and a compliment thrown in for good measure. Jesse doesn't get the chance to mess things up with a clumsy word before he's ushered back with a release form and Saul – a steady presence at his side.

He wishes they'd gone to urgent care to be seen by Drew; it would make his thorough physical easier without the awkward lies to explain his bruises and stitches – which are due for removal. They question Saul about his own stitches along his neck, and things only manage to get more awkward from there.

Jesse's separated from Saul for the x-ray, and he's immediately slammed with questions.

"So, Jesse," the x-ray tech says conversationally, "how are things at work?"

"Uhm, not really working at the moment. Looking for the right job, I guess," Jesse mumbles, cooperatively angling his arm whenever the tech adjusts it before hitting the button to snap another picture.

"How are things at home, then?"

"Okay," Jesse replies simply, wincing when the angle feels off and his arm protests with a sharp stab of pain.

"Sorry," the tech says before quickly snapping another image. He lets Jesse relax for a moment before sliding the blond's chair in closer to drape his arm over the table in the opposite direction for flipped images.

"Do you get in fights often, Jesse?"

His name out of this man's mouth sounds not quite condescending, but maybe pitying. It makes Jesse grit his teeth in irritation, but that only aggravates his migraine so he quickly stops. "Nah, just a couple run-ins with assholes."

"Sometimes it's hard to avoid those situations," he says with an understanding nod. "But there's always an alternative, y'know?"

"Sure," Jesse shrugs his good shoulder. "I guess."

"Getting enough sleep?"

"Well, uhm, not lately, no."

"No? Do you have nightmares?"

Jesse frowns, hesitating as the tech makes a few notes in his chart quickly. "Yeah…? Sometimes. But doesn't everyone?"

"What I mean, Jesse, is: are you scared when it's time for bed? Do you feel safe at home?"

Jesse frowns again at the tech. With narrowed eyes, he carefully asks, "Yo, what are you tryin' to ask, man?"

The tech sighs heavily, setting down the blond's chart and looking him square in the eyes. "Jesse, are you being mistreated? Abused by a family member? Significant other? Classmate or friend, maybe?"

"_What_?" Jesse balks, a surprised series of coughs bursting from his tired chest. "_No,_ dude. I got in a fight with a little bitch, and then ran into him again tonight." The term fits both Marcus and el Caballero as far as he's concerned, and they were isolated incidents. It's not like he's getting smacked around on the daily; he's no longer a snarky ten year old living under Pops' fist, and cruel schoolmates aren't a concern anymore now that he's out of school. The implication that _Saul_ might be the guilty party makes Jesse's hackles rise just as with Francesca's inaccurate assumption.

"No one is hurting me at home," Jesse says emphatically, eyes fixed on the tech.

"Alright," the tech nods. "Just know that if you ever feel trapped in a bad situation, there are other options."

"Fine, whatever," Jesse grumbles tiredly, dragging his hand down his face. "Are we done here?" The tech hasn't taken any x-rays for a while now, and Jesse is eager to get back to Saul.

"Yeah, we're done." The tech gives him another pitying look, scent thick with the sweet-citrusy smell of the emotion. Jesse fights the urge to wrinkle his nose. It's truly his least favorite scent, which is unfortunate because it's often directed toward him.

Once Jesse is cut loose, he quickly tracks his steps back to exam room three, grateful when he's back within range of Saul. He's tired of being prodded and ordered around and interrogated; all he wants is to curl up against Saul and go to sleep. The air carries traces of the man's scent, and Jesse hops up on the exam bed to edge closer to where the DA is leaning against the wall.

The lawyer is frowning mildly, looking to Jesse just long enough to hand the blond's beanie back, having held onto it after his physical. As soon as Jesse grabs it, the DA's eyes drop back to the tiled floor. His scent is close to baseline, but the teasing scent of spring rain is gone now, replaced by a nearly chemical smell like chlorine. Unless that's a lingering antiseptic smell of the hospital – too much time in a place like this eventually throws all of his senses off balance.

"Why are you pouting?" Jesse asks, tugging his beanie back on and shifting closer until he can bury his nose against Saul's throat.

Saul sighs heavily, a hand drifting up to cup Jesse's nape for a moment. "They think you're being abused, that _I'm_ abusing you."

Jesse growls. "Did they accuse you of that shit?"

Saul shakes his head, sad eyes catching Jesse's for a moment. "No, but it's implied, isn't it?"

The blond frowns. "No, it isn't. And you have nothing to feel guilty about." He laughs tiredly and admits, "I just had an awkward interview myself, but that's ridiculous, yo. You're doing, like, the exact opposite of that. All you've ever given me is safety and lo—_affection_." Jesse nervously scrambles to cover his near-slip, "They don't know what they're talking about, don't let it make you mad, Saul." Though he's _very_ recently come to terms with his own feelings, he knows he shouldn't be bold about it. Saul can't possibly feel the same way; Jesse's used to people taking an interest in him for the first couple encounters, when he's funny and mysterious, but once the mystery is solved, he's only a damaged fuck-up with less than promising prospects. Within the short time he's known Saul, he's brought nothing but trouble, and he may fascinate the man now, but Jesse doesn't dare risk getting attached or seeming _needy_ when he knows the lawyer will eventually leave like the rest.

"But they're _right_, kid. You've had a really rough go of it lately, and I've done little to help."

"What? No. Did you not hear what I just said," Jesse frowns. Saul doesn't make eye contact and Jesse nuzzles at his throat briefly. "Saul, you've been nothing but amazing. Perfect. You've done so much. You _see me_. Where would I be without you?" Jesse swallows thickly and coughs into his sleeve for an agonizing moment, muttering, "Actually, don't answer that – that's a scary thought."

"You shouldn't be getting hurt as often as you do. You shouldn't be getting hurt _at all_," Saul insists, brows drawn low to match his frown. "And that cough, it sounds awful. Are you getting sick? There must be more I can do."

"Saul," Jesse murmurs, tugging lightly at the man's blue tie to get his attention. "It's in my nature to get into trouble. You know what they say about curious cats."

Saul finally cracks a weak smile and Jesse grins brightly at the victory. "Honestly, Saul, you're amazing. They don't know what they're talking about."

Before Saul can respond, a GP knocks and enters swiftly. He's followed by an MA carrying wraps and a splint.

"Alright, Mr James," the GP begins, introducing himself and his MA. Jesse's distracted by the tense lawyer at his side whose heart rate has spiked unexpectedly, and only catches the introduction with half an ear.

"Just 'Jesse' is fine," the blond interrupts, after puzzling out the reason for Saul's discomfort. For some reason, the fake surname he picked is less than funny to the lawyer. He has no idea why, though; Saul usually enjoys word play and subtle jokes.

"Jesse, alright. We're going to wrap up your arm; it'll stay in the splint for a couple weeks, just until the swelling goes down. Once we're in the green, we'll apply a plaster cast, alright?"

Jesse's ears relax alongside Saul's heartbeat and he nods his understanding. He obediently sticks out his arm, eager to finish this last task so they can go home.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

The splint is constricting, and Jesse has to remind himself for the umpteenth time to leave it be. He wants to tear it off, and he finds himself sporadically shaking that arm in irritation to free himself when he's not focused enough to fight the impulse. At the very least, the pain meds they prescribed were manufactured with his genes in mind, and they're doing an awesome job of masking his discomfort. The arm almost feels normal under the meds, save for the strange warmth and pressure of the splint.

The Doberman bumps into his leg again, whining quietly and looking up at him with soulful eyes.

Jesse grins, kneeling down to the dog to pet along his muzzle. "Good boy," he says with a grin. "Didn't chew on Saul's shoes or piss on the rug or nothin'. Such a good boy."

The dog wags its tail happily, nosing at Jesse's hand. Jesse rises at Saul's cheerful summons, making his way to the bathroom where Saul has prepared a bath, the dog trotting after him until the threshold.

"Ah-ah, Davy, you stay here," Saul halts the dog with a pat on the head.

"Davy?" Jesse asks, watching the dog nose hesitantly at Saul's hand.

"Yeah, Davy Jones? You said he'd been guarding a locker, right? It must have been Davy Jones'," the lawyer concludes with a cheesy grin.

Jesse mirrors his grin. "Perfect," he murmurs his consent, ducking his head to nuzzle at Saul's throat, catching that sweet, happy scent just before the spring rain floods his senses again. He purrs contentedly, drawing Saul closer in a hug, kneading at the man's shoulders for a long beat before catching himself. He draws back in embarrassment, apology ready on his lips only to have Saul seal the words away, unspoken and unimportant in the press of a kiss.

"Test the water, sweetheart. I know you like heat, but I don't want you cooking yourself. If it's too cold, we can freshen it. I'm going to go grab a plastic bag and some tape for your brace. Don't take it off, and don't get it wet." Saul parts from him with a quick kiss to the temple, walking down the hall toward the office.

Davy sits patiently just outside the doorway while Jesse paws at the water. It's cooler than he'd prefer, but Saul's right – if it were up to him, he'd bathe in a hot tub.

The blond wriggles out of his shirt without disturbing the splint and shucks his jeans, grateful to be free of them. He idly wonders how many washes it'll take to get the nauseating chemical smell out of them as he waits for Saul in nothing but his boxers. The water is tempting, but rather than risk dunking the brace unintentionally – and disappointing Saul – he follows after Saul to get it bagged.

The hallway seems unnaturally long, growing with each step he takes so that his progress can't be marked. He frowns, knowing beneath the haze of painkillers that that's not possible, but it isn't until Davy noses at his hand and guides him the rest of the way that he finally reaches the office.

"You didn't get lost, did ya, Saul? 'Cause I almost did." His teasing smile slowly falls slack in awe as he takes in the office. There are two desks now, Saul's and a handsome glass-top tilted drawing table positioned adjacent. There are unopened pencil sets in the attached holders. There's a metal easel in the corner surrounded by new canvases in varying sizes. Scattered along Saul's sturdy desk are bright paint tubes, brushes, pens, graphite pencils, and a couple _new_ sketchbooks stacked next to his raggedy ones.

"Sorry," Saul calls over his shoulder casually, digging in one of his desk drawers. "I moved the masking tape. Pretty sure it's here, though. I found the duct tape but we don't need something that strong."

The DA turns to face him, tape lifted up proudly and victorious grin plastered on his face just as Jesse's face crumples.

He's not _sad_, really; he doesn't understand why his next breaths hitch, why he can't rein these tears back or stop his heart from twisting awkwardly between his ribs. He scrubs at his eyes with his bare fist, nose burning and throat tight. He hiccups once, retreating back into the hall. "S-sorry, I don't know why I…" He melts into Saul's warm frame when the man pulls him into a snug embrace.

"Are you okay?" When Jesse answers with another hiccup, the DA shushes him gently, broad palm warming his bare spine. He combs a hand through his hair, fingers still lightly skating over the spot where his sutures once laid, before massaging at one ear. He whispers into the opposite ear, "It's alright, Jesse. Those are happy tears, right?"

Saul sounds nervous and small, and Jesse wants to comfort him, but his words fail, trapped within his tight throat. Jesse wraps his arms tightly across the man's back, burying his face in his shirt to soak the cotton as his tears taper off and a deep purr shakes his ribs.

He clutches to Saul like a drowning man to a life preserver. He finds that he's trembling slightly, heart twisting again in a decidedly _good_ way. He rouses from the safety of Saul's chest when he feels an insistent fuzzy nudge against his knee, where Davy is nosing at him in concern.

Jesse huffs a wet laugh, petting Davy before turning back to Saul. The DA continues to run a hand down his bare spine in long sweeps, his own eyes magnified and shiny with unshed tears.

"Sorry. It's not too much, is it? I wasn't sure what you'd like…and then when I got started, I couldn't seem to stop—"

Jesse interrupts him with a kiss, grinning brightly, thrumming purr deep enough to shake Saul's lungs. "Thank you," Jesse murmurs, squeezing Saul against his chest again.

Saul answers with a kiss to Jesse's temple. "Let's get you washed up, darling, you can get messy with paint later," Saul says, leading the blond back to the tub.

Jesse's steps are a little unsure, the day coupled with the painkillers easing him to sleep. Saul helps him out of his boxers and into the water, splint bagged and hanging over the edge of the tub. Without prompting, the DA wets a wash cloth – soft and worn with age – scrubbing it against a bar of soap before gently running it along Jesse's forehead, cheeks, and jaw.

Something in Jesse sparks to life at the unexpected treatment; he presses into the ministrations, famished for the attention. He didn't expect to be bathed, but now that it's happening, it's all he wants. He paws at Saul's shirt, a wet blot renewing the mark left by his tears. He wants Saul closer, and he tugs insistently, possibly voicing the desire when Saul begins to wash his throat and collarbones tenderly.

Laughing, Saul moves closer, but doesn't climb into the tub like Jesse's hindbrain demands. "This tub isn't big enough, kid." He places a small kiss to Jesse's forehead, massaging shampoo into Jesse's hair and the fur along the back of his ears.

Jesse groans in a mixture of pleasure, and frustration of being denied. He butts his head against Saul's jaw lightly, grinning when Saul pushes him away with a laugh to wipe the bubbles off of himself.

"Close your eyes," Saul murmurs.

The blond readily complies, obeying effortlessly in a show of trust. He tilts his head as Saul rinses the soap from his hair, melting when the lawyer repeats the process, scrubbing away the harsh residue he accumulated in the Crystal Ship.

The lawyer dedicatedly drags the soapy washcloth down his shoulders to the tips of his fingers; washing as far as the tape of his bagged arm. By the time Saul's moved down his ribs to his abdomen, Jesse is caught between arousal and drifting to sleep in the warm water. He writhes lethargically into the gentle press of Saul's hands, purring drunkenly, limbs loose and head resting against the edge of the tub. He's little help, muscles warm and heavy when Saul asks him to shift for access to the rest of him. He blinks sluggishly, hugging Saul's soaked shoulders while the lawyer finishes up, his touches nearly clinical around Jesse's prominent arousal.

The blond whines, opening his stance where he's kneeling in the tub, nuzzling at Saul's throat as he offers his straining length. He can smell Saul's arousal, but the man simply reaches to drain the water, shushing him warmly.

When Saul starts to undress, Jesse gives an appreciative growl. _Finally_. The blond is helped to his feet, shielded by Saul as the man joints him in the shower and starts the overhead spray, adjusting the water until he's pleased. When Jesse reaches for Saul's cock where it juts to attention toward his belly, the lawyer catches his hand and draws it back.

"Sweetheart," Saul coaxes until Jesse is looking at him. "There's time for that later, I promise. But right now, you're not exactly clear-headed."

Jesse frowns, he knows the pills have him a little fuzzy, but he's done worse _on_ worse, and doesn't see the issue. He voices as much, and Saul smiles at him, one of those small, pained ones. The earthy _sad _scent makes his nostrils flare and he frowns again. "No, no. Okay. It's okay. Don't do that," he says, drawing Saul close.

"Sorry. I know things may have been different in the past…but I'm not comfortable; it feels like taking advantage, Jesse."

The blond melts toward the man, the consideration novel, but so _typical_ of Saul that it shouldn't be surprising. Still, it isn't what he meant. "No, not that. It's okay, can't say I'm not disappointed, but I get it. Really." He nuzzles again, catching traces of Saul's lingering arousal beneath the earthy scent. "_That_. I wish… I can't explain… I'm sorry I make you sad," he says quietly.

Saul stares into his eyes for a beat. They're close enough that Jesse can see himself reflected in them. When Saul smiles, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners, it's chased by the welcome scent of spring rain.

"You don't make me sad, Jesse."

Jesse grins, eyes slipping shut while he draws in a deep lungful. "That's better," he slurs, pressing closer. He helps where he can as Saul quickly washes himself before giving Jesse another caressing wash after the blond requests it timidly. He kneads dazedly at any stretch of the lawyer's skin he can reach, purrs echoing off the tiles to match Saul's pleased hums and gentle laughs.

When they finish, Saul towels him dry with the same careful touches before wrapping him in the towel. They retreat to the bedroom, followed by Davy. Saul's already moved the dog bed to rest at the foot of their bed and the welcoming gesture ensures Jesse's purrs remain constant. The Doberman checks the both of them – having been separated by the bathroom door for a long stretch – and is easily mollified, spinning circles in his bed before lying down.

Jesse eagerly crawls beneath the covers, tugging Saul close once the man turns off the light. The lawyer's scent is warm, thick with arousal and the same teasing spring rain. Jesse strokes along Saul's bare frame, avoiding the man's length which has dropped to half mast. He respects Saul's reservations, but he can't help wanting to cover the sweet man which his scent in an unusual flare of possessiveness.

The lawyer doesn't seem to mind, tucking Jesse closer and offering as much skin as possible to his wandering hands. He rests a warm palm against the blond's nape, murmuring into Jesse's crown a story of a client he saw while Jesse was away.

"—so she figured she'd file to sue her business partner for embezzlement, but he's not guilty of that, she is. Talk about projecting, right? So now he's trying to force her to drop me so that _he _can hire me to sue _her_."

Jesse huffs a laugh, licking lightly at Saul's throat for a beat, too far gone into the _safe, warm_ place to catch himself. He noses at Saul's jaw, eyes too heavy to open when Saul brushes a thumb along his cheek tenderly. The DA continues his soft monologue, his dolce voice gradually lulling Jesse to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Whoa, sorry about that. Got the real CH23 loaded correctly now. Yeah, Bustamante is an OC - I'm taking quite a few liberties in the AU realm here, and I hope it doesn't weigh the story down or make it clumsy... Thanks for reading!**

Hey, thanks for the review! I'm posting this story on another site, and sorta forgot about this site...so the story is a chapter behind here. But now you're caught up! Thanks for reading and reviewing, and I hope you keep reading

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Bustamante has a firm grip on his arm, broad frame looming over him, face impassive and cold with a calculated anger. Jesse isn't able to break free – he knows what happens next, knows he has to find a way loose, but his opponent's hold is unyielding. Bustamante's lip curls in a brief display of his anger, and he beings to _twist_.

Jesse jolts awake with a fearful hiss sounding between his teeth, whipping his arm free toward himself with enough force to smack into his chest audibly. His arm is free but Bustamante's hold is a phantom tight grip, and Jesse edges backward in an instinctual need to get away. He claws at his arm, confused to knock knuckles and fingertips into plastic and Velcro, head spinning with the pain trapped beneath. It's unnaturally dark, but he doesn't get much time to wonder why his eyes are trying to focus in night vision before Bustamante clumsily grabs his bicep. The blond's ears snap back once more, cruel hiss escaping his throat with a flash of teeth just as he springs backward with powerfully coiled muscles.

He slams into the dresser, solid frame cold and unforgiving against his spine, loose coins and the cologne bottles on top rattling noisily with the impact. There's just enough moonlight knifing into the room for his eyes to finally adjust as he scrambles against the smooth surface of the dresser for purchase. He spots Saul, highlighted by the moonlight and utterly motionless on the bed in their room, fear bitter in his scent. The DA blinks widely before reaching blindly for the lamp on the nightstand.

The sound of Jesse's galloping heart distracts him from Davy getting up. The dog gives a guttural growl, poised before the panting blond defensively in the darkened room. Saul freezes on the bed again, having failed to reach the lamp in time. The smell of the man's heightened fear spikes Jesse right through the heart.

Jesse drops to his knees, clamping a hand over Davy's snarling muzzle. The dog falls silent for a beat in its surprise. "No," Jesse says firmly, guiding the dog to an about-face, removing the immediate threat of snapping jaws from Saul. Both Jesse and the Doberman track Saul's movement with twitching ears as the lawyer finally clicks the lamp to life.

Jesse blinks his sensitive eyes a few times to adjust to the sudden flood of light. Everything seems to draw closer, losing the depth his night vision provides, and the rapid transition makes his eyes sting. He keeps a hold on Davy's muzzle, because the dog is still growling mutedly, and he repeats, "_No_." He relaxes his stance, knows he's still shaking slightly and he reeks of fear and adrenaline, but it's fading. He's safe here, he knows that. He's not in danger, and he needs to convince Davy of that.

"Saul's a friend, we don't bite or growl at Saul," he says soothingly, petting along Davy's head and easing his grip as the dog begins to relax. "We also don't hiss," he mutters, glancing up at the DA. His ears drop back in shame and he whimpers, "Sorry, Saul…"

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart," Saul says immediately, voice rough with sleep. The acrid scent of his fear is all but gone, baseline strong and interwoven now with syrupy sweet _concern_.

The DA rises from the bed, still naked from the shower. It's only then that Jesse notes his own state of undress. He stays low to the ground with Davy, but gratefully tugs on the pair of boxers Saul offers once the DA has donned his own. Saul kneels next to him on the floor, posture open and welcoming, but he doesn't move to grab Jesse again even once they're both clothed. The blond can't resist though, and reassures Davy with another couple pets before reaching for Saul.

The lawyer immediately folds him in close, tucking the blond's head underneath his chin and splaying one hand across his hip, the other crossing his back snugly to cup the ball of his shoulder.

Jesse makes himself small against the lawyer, clinging to him just as Davy sniffs at Saul hesitantly. Jesse takes his own deep breaths of the man, that syrupy scent. "Sorry," he murmurs into the man's throat.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart," Saul rumbles softly. "You're alright; I've got you. Are you hurt?" Saul drags his hand down the blond's back, where he collided with the dresser. Jesse shakes his head in the negative, and the DA responds by nuzzling at Jesse's crown.

The blond _melts_ with a soft noise. Warmth floods Jesse, a deep-seated contentment expressed bodily in the blond's loose limbs and sudden purr. It causes both Saul and Davy to relax in turn, the dog eventually lying down in front of them to watch their exchange with soulful eyes.

"That nightmare snuck up quick, sorry; usually I can catch them before that. Do you want to talk about it?" Saul asks softly, arms a safe barrier for Jesse to hide behind.

Jesse squeezes him lightly, but shakes his head. He nuzzles at the lawyer's throat again until the man's concerned frown eases. Jesse reaches down to pet Davy, smoothing a thumb between the dog's eyes and scratching behind his ears.

In turn, Saul combs a hand through Jesse's hair, tickling along one ear by accident. He huffs a laugh when it twitches at the sensation. "I've never heard you hiss before," Saul muses while he fits a palm across Jesse's nape. "Thought there was a rattler in the room, and I was anticipating that distinct rattling sound to follow but then Davy started growling and I didn't know what to think."

Jesse noses at Saul's jaw, warmth trickling down from his scruffed nape to his fingertips. "Yeah… Haven't done that since I was a kid. Sorry, didn't mean to… And we'll train that outta Davy; he's new to all of this."

Saul tugs him closer, arms wrapped snuggly around the blond as he kisses his temple tenderly. His scent dips toward that familiar earthy sorrow before the comforting spring rain overrides it. "No need to apologize, my little lion."

Jesse feels a blush rush to his cheeks at the endearment. He hides his face against Saul's throat and kneads at the man's shoulders while he breathes in greedily.

Smiling, Saul murmurs, "Let's get back to bed, darling. It's only half two."

Saul had only been asleep a couple hours before this outburst. Jesse's own exhaustion makes his eyes feel gritty and his muscles tired. The blond tries to apologize again, for interrupting the man's sleep, but Saul simply kisses that apology away as he tucks him in under the comforter.

The DA disappears for a moment, returning with the night light from the bathroom and two water bottles from the kitchen. He hands Jesse one, placing the second on the nightstand before plugging in the nightlight. He turns and pets Davy for a long beat. "Good boy, Davy," he says approvingly, guiding the Doberman back to his pet bed.

"No, Saul, you're gonna confuse him, yo. He can't be growling at you." Jesse frowns at the lawyer, drinking another gulp of water before capping his half-empty bottle.

"It's good that he wants to protect you from all threats, Jesse. I don't want him to ever hesitate. At the time, I was a perceived threat."

Jesse frowns again. By the determined set of Saul's shoulders, he can tell the DA will fight his point all night. Jesse sighs and silently vows to train it out of the Doberman himself; Saul may want him protected, but Jesse won't allow it at the expense of the kind man's safety.

Saul must be able to read him just as easily, because the lawyer laughs warmly when he returns to bed. He bumps their foreheads together in a light headbutt that has Jesse grinning despite himself. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Try to get some sleep, okay? I'm right here."

Jesse's bottle joins its mate on the nightstand, and the lamp is turned off once more. The dim glow of the nightlight softly illuminates the room in faint gold. Jesse feels small and embarrassed that Saul felt it necessary, but he can't deny that he feels less vulnerable with it. His genetics are superior, but still naturally limited in that he's unable to see in complete darkness. His eyes always need a few seconds to adjust to low light – too long when he's frightened and disoriented. He doesn't want a repeat of his panic and the nightlight should help. He tugs moodily at his brace in another flash of guilt.

"Does it hurt? It's a little soon for another dose of painkillers." Saul soothes him with a warm pass of his palm from shoulder to elbow, reversing the sweeping gesture once he meets the barrier of the splint.

"I'm okay," Jesse replies. It aches, but nothing in comparison to when it was first broken. His eyes aren't ringed in grey nor does he feel feverish, and his head is no longer spinning since recovering from the shock of hitting the damaged limb against his chest.

He smiles softly when Saul opens his arms in invitation, slotting himself against Saul's bare chest. The man immediately combs through his hair and drags a broad palm along his ribs, teasing both spots with blunt nails. Jesse slumps against him, rumbling purr shaking his sides beneath Saul's hand. Davy responds to Jesse's audible contentment with a satisfied sigh from his bed and the men share sleepy laughs.

Purring evidently has just as much a sedative affect on Saul as it does Jesse, because it isn't long before the DA's warm palm stops its steady strokes along the blond's skin as its owner falls asleep again. The man's soft snores echo Jesse's purr and the blond can't help the smile that curves his lips.

Something heavy and warm expands between his thrumming ribs and he ducks his head to savor the feeling. "I love you," he whispers against Saul's throat, burying his confession in the warm stretch of skin. He hides his heated blush there, too, settling into Saul's secure hold. He eases into a soundless sleep for the rest of the night.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Jesse wakes up purring, tilting his head back to allow access to the vulnerable stretch of his throat trustingly after scenting Saul. He blinks drowsily up toward the seated DA as the man makes another gentle sweep of fingertips before grooming at the blond's beard with blunt nails.

"Morning, little lion," Saul says fondly, smiling down at him.

Grinning, Jesse buries his blushing face against Saul's hip where the man is sitting on the edge of the bed. He nuzzles the cloth of the man's trousers, realizing that he's dressed for work. "Mornin', Saul. What time is it?"

"Time for breakfast," he says brightly, reaching for the nightstand where two glasses of orange juice and two plates have been placed. They're covered with pan lids, but as soon as Saul lifts them, the scent of the omelets punches Jesse right in the stomach. He scrambles to sit up, reaching eagerly for the plate Saul hands him.

"Thank you," he says distractedly before taking his first bite. Mushrooms, red peppers, onions, spinach, ham, cheddar, and egg assault his senses. He groans in appreciation, pressing a quick kiss to Saul's lips.

Saul smiles warmly and they eat in companionable silence. Davy eventually wanders in, tail wagging while he licks at his teeth.

Jesse grins, "Did Davy get breakfast in bed, too?"

"Nope, afraid that's reserved for little lions. Davy got another can of his gourmet meal served in a bowl of silver."

Laughing, Jesse sets aside his empty plate and hugs Saul, squeezing tightly.

Saul grunts in surprise as Jesse squeezes the air from his lungs. He lifts his plate up away from Davy's curious sniffing and strokes a hand across the back of Jesse's head before he confides, "Easy, kid, not all of us have nine lives."

Jesse relents slightly, but still keeps his arms snaked around Saul's frame. "Give me ten minutes, and I'll be ready to go to work with ya."

The lawyer stacks his dish with Jesse's and _nuzzles_ the blond, cradling him when he melts against his suit. "I want you to stay in today and get some rest, Jesse. Maybe paint? Plus, Davy will require his after-meal leisurely stroll through the park."

The blond's lips war with themselves for a beat, dipping into a frown before finally lifting into a reluctant grin. "Aww, Saul, I'm fine, really. And Davy can come along; he won't make trouble, I promise."

Saul trails a hand along Jesse's arm above the splint, brows knitted together. "It's just for today, sweetheart. I want you to rest up. It'll just be another shift of long-winded conversations with clients, and dull paperwork. You won't be missing anything."

The blond smoothes Saul's shirt with a mild frown. He can't deny that he'd love a day to relax, curled up in Saul's welcoming space with Davy at his side. If he _were_ to accompany Saul, he knows his day would be tense and stressful, all senses on high-alert for the next disaster. That doesn't mean he won't worry about the kind lawyer the entire day away from him, and he already feels guilty choosing his own needs before seeing to Saul's immediate safety.

He looks up to catch Saul's gaze and asks, "You still have that bodyguard there, yeah?"

"Sure do," the DA reassures him.

Jesse still worries the thought over, tracing the edge of his brace. "Alright, just… Call if you need anything?"

"Of course. The same goes for you, Jesse."

The blond gives a lopsided grin and nods. He scrambles to his feet to help Saul with the dishes, finding that the man already has the drying rack loaded with pans from the stove. The man is efficient in that he always cleans while he cooks so that there is never a daunting mess afterward.

Jesse snags a fresh towel from the drawer and dries while Saul finishes washing, bumping his shoulder against the DA contentedly. Domestic acts like this are slowly becoming something the blond craves, especially when Saul rewards him for his help through those gentle kisses with teasing swipes of his skillful tongue.

Jesse sees Saul to the door, feeling like a dutiful 50's housewife as he hands the man his briefcase once Saul finishes snapping his lapels neatly and straightening his cuffs. Saul must sense it, because he truly _looks _at him – embarrassed blush and tilted ears – and thanks him warmly, brushing his hand against the blond's before accepting the briefcase.

"I'll be home in time for dinner, want me to pick anything up?"

"I could make something," Jesse offers casually with a shrug, though his heartbeat drums a faster tempo at the thought of being rejected. "Creamy chicken and pasta?" He knows they have the ingredients, and it's not a difficult endeavor.

Saul smiles brightly, drawing Jesse close for a tight, one-armed hug. "That sounds amazing, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight."

Jesse watches him go, Cadillac disappearing around the corner of the block. He turns to Davy, who looks up at him expectantly with a lolling tongue and toothy grin.

"Well, wanna go for a walk, buddy?"

The dog tilts its head curiously, one ear tilted up to catch Jesse's following laugh.

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

The park is five blocks down and two over, just as Saul said. Their trek there is slightly delayed by Davy sniffing curiously at every inch of sidewalk and any patch of grass that's evidently too interesting to pass by. Jesse can't help but indulge the dog, knowing this may truly be the first time the Doberman has been on a walk. He pets Davy again when the dog sniffs at the post of a stop sign, looking up to Jesse eagerly.

"Yeah, I know, buddy, smells like piss. Real interesting."

The dog wags its tail excitedly and promptly lifts his leg to mark the post himself.

Jesse glances away to give him some privacy, only turning back when the dog tugs on his leash to move forward again. By the time they reach the park, Davy's marked two signs, a tree, and tried to mark a parked car until Jesse tugged him away from it.

They have the park to themselves at this hour, dew still clinging to the blades of grass and sun slung low in the sky. Jesse kneels next to his dog, telling him sternly, "I'm gonna let you off your leash, Davy, but you gotta be good, alright?"

The dog's only response is excited panting and a couple tail wags before nosing at Jesse's chest.

Grinning, the blond reaches back to unclip his leash from his chest harness. He stands, walking a couple feet to the nearest wooden bench. He clambers on to the seat, drawing his knees up to his chest to watch two birds swoop and chase each other in the cool morning air.

A sorrowful whine draws his attention back to Davy, where the dog is hesitantly slinking toward him, rear end tucked low and head bowed. Jesse frowns and drops his feet to the grass, extending a hand toward the dog. "What, buddy? You don't want to explore the park?" There's an elaborate playground just a few feet from them, solitary standing grills, a section of water fountains, and two cast iron statutes that he's sure all would interest the dog.

Instead, Davy hurries to Jesse's offered hand, nosing at it and pressing close to the blond's shin. The dog looses another muffled whine and Jesse frowns. He's not sure where the happy dog from their walk went, and why he's now faced with this sad, cowering one. Jesse scans the park – sharp eyes focused for any movement – while he scents the wind and listens for anything unusual under the distant roar of morning traffic.

Nothing strikes him as threatening, and he looks back curiously to the Doberman just as the dog reaches up for his leash laid on the bench. The dog carefully takes the green length of woven nylon in its teeth and noses at Jesse's knee.

Jesse reaches down to pet him reassuringly. "We don't need that right now, buddy. Don't you wanna run around?"

The dog offers the leash to him insistently with a small noise.

Jesse takes it back, dropping it onto the bench again under the dog's focused stare. "Wanna play fetch?" he digs into his hoodie pocket and retrieves one of the chew toys he bought Davy, a durable, squishy faux baseball with red stitches painted across it. It doesn't have a squeaker, only because he figured Saul wouldn't appreciate the bothersome noise.

He waves it in front of the dog still pressed to his leg and throws it in a short arc. Both he and Davy watch it bounce and roll to a stop from their bench. After a long beat the dog finally turns to look up at him expectantly.

Grinning, Jesse rises and walks the short distance to the ball, Davy short on his heels. He retrieves it himself, giving Davy a few scratches to the underside of his jaw, glad to see the dog hesitantly wagging its tail. They return to the bench again and Jesse shows the Doberman the ball. "Alright, buddy, it's your turn now."

He throws the ball again, and tells the dog excitedly, "Get it!"

The Doberman's stance widens, ears snapping flat and muzzle pulling back in a vicious growl. Its jaw is open slightly; drool and all teeth visible as it hatefully glares down the innocent ball.

Jesse stares in shock at the dog's violent reaction to the command. Davy is rooted to the spot, muscles coiled as if waiting for a second command before lunging forward. The blond eyes the scars interrupting sleek fur and frowns, imagining the blood and pained cries of dog fights. Generally speaking, the dogs forced into that life are gentle, loyal breeds, and his stomach twists at the thought of Davy having to endure it. He relaxes his stance, dropping to the bench again, clicking his tongue quietly to catch the dog's attention.

The Doberman turns to him, ears at attention. Jesse offers his hand, and the dog immediately drops its aggressive stance, threatening growl disappearing as he snuffles and noses warmly at the blond's fingers.

"It's alright, buddy," Jesse murmurs as he pets the grinning dog. "Never too late to learn something new."

||[]||[]||[]||[]||

Through trial and error – and a lot of retrieving the ball himself – Jesse discovers 'bring it here,' and 'fetch,' are terms the dog doesn't know but learns quickly in relation to the ball. He knows 'drop it,' as proven with his most recent encounter with el Caballero, and Jesse is pleased to find it applies to playing this game.

The Doberman is eager to please, possibly playing fetch only because he thinks it makes Jesse happy. He excitedly brings the ball back to drop it at Jesse's feet, waiting for praise and pets each time before chasing after a new throw.

Just as Jesse swings his arm back to release the ball in another arc, he spots a familiar figure casually walking beyond the line of grills.

He grins and looks down to the lightly-panting Doberman which is patiently waiting for the next throw, tail wagging and eyes on the ball. "There's someone I want you to meet, buddy."

The dog allows Jesse to clip his leash onto his chest harness again, watching the ball disappear into Jesse's hoodie pocket once more. He walks alongside the blond as he's led across the wide stretch of grass to the oblivious figure.


End file.
